


Driftmark

by orphan_account



Series: Third Of His Name [1]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Canon Divergence - Robert's Rebellion, Dragons, F/M, House Targaryen, Jaime saves rhaenys, Jon Snow Doesn't Join the Night's Watch, Rhaegar and Lyanna did NOT get married, Rhaenys Targaryen Lives, Targaryen Restoration, VISERYS CENTRIC, Viserys Targaryen Lives, Viserys Targaryen Needs a Hug, Young Griff is a Blackfyre, cannot stress that enough
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-29
Updated: 2020-06-05
Packaged: 2021-02-19 19:48:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 11
Words: 42,123
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22936885
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: House Velaryon and House Targaryen once shared a very close relationship. After the Dance of the Dragons, however, as the Velaryon's wealth and influence waned, they grew apart. What happens when the Lord of Driftmark sees an opportunity to gain back his House's favor and power among the Targaryens in the exiled prince and princess?Or, Oberyn Martell makes it to Dragonstone before Stannis Baratheon and spirits away the Prince Viserys and Princess Daenerys to Driftmark, seat of House Velaryon, where they are taken in by their father's former Master of Ships, Lucerys Velaryon, meant to be kept safe and hidden until it is time to reveal themselves, fulfill betrothals, and take back the seven kingdoms.UPDATE: On a bit of a break to focus on other works/plan out the plot a bit more, but absolutely not abandoned. Will update soon as I’m able.
Relationships: Arianne Martell/Viserys Targaryen, Jaime Lannister/Elia Martell (past), Jon Snow/Daenerys Targaryen, Rhaenys Targaryen (Daughter of Elia)/Monford Velaryon
Series: Third Of His Name [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1676785
Comments: 142
Kudos: 156





	1. Prologue: Viserys I, Oberyn I

**Author's Note:**

> Soooo, this is my first ever attempt at a long fic, and my first ever ASOIAF fic to boot. Let's hope I don't fuck it up lmao.

_He was a scion of House Velaryon: a family of old and storied Valyrian heritage who had come to Westeros before the Targaryens, as the histories agree, and who often provided the bulk of the royal fleet._

_-Writings of Maester Yandel_

* * *

The cold winds whipped across his tear-streaked face as Viserys tried his best not to vomit on the ship’s deck. 

His mother’s body hadn’t even gone cold before they were forced to abandon Dragonstone with Ser Willem and the man who claimed to be his good-brother, Prince Oberyn. He hadn’t seen the Prince since he’d visited King’s Landing for Rhaenys’s birth four years past, though he vaguely remembered his face. 

Whether or not he was who he said he was, Ser Willem appeared to believe him, and he trusted Ser Willem. So it was that they’d left Dragonstone before the usurper’s dogs could catch them, with his new sister in tow. Daenerys, mother had named her. She’d made him promise that he would take care of her, and he would, though it pained him to look into those deep violet eyes of hers. His mother’s eyes. Rhaegar’s eyes. 

Every time he felt the slightest bit of resentment towards her for taking mother from him, all he needed to do was look in her eyes and he’d see mother’s eyes staring back at him accusingly for blaming her death on an innocent babe. He couldn’t resent her, he wouldn’t. They were all that was left, and Targaryens looked after their own. He would love his sister, and when the time came, she would be his queen. And he’d make all the traitors pay with fire and blood. 

_Fire and Blood._ Father certainly appreciated both of those things. He still remembered the two men in the throne room that day, How Lord Stark had screamed and how Lord Brandon’s face gradually turned purple as he strangled himself trying to free his father. Father had laughed as if he’d heard the funniest jape in history, but Viserys didn’t think it was very funny. It seemed quite sad, and he didn’t want to watch. 

And afterward, Father had gone to visit mother, he could tell because Mother was sad, and she wasn’t able to hug him as tightly as she usually did. Now they were both gone, Elia and Aegon too. His good brother had told him that Rhaenys was safe, but that he couldn’t see her yet. That cut deep. Rhaenys was his best friend, and he’d missed her terribly, and she would need him now that her family was gone. 

As he thought of his niece, Oberyn came up to him, a concerned frown marring his handsome face.

“Hello, Viserys. Has your sickness abated?”

Viserys shook his head, his silver locks falling into his face. 

Oberyn’s frown deepened, and he sighed. 

“Well, not to worry, we’ll be there soon,” his eyes went to the warm bundle in Viserys’s arms, “Do you want me to hold her for a while?” he asked.

Viserys shrank back from him and shook his head, pressing his sister tighter to his chest. Oberyn may have been his good-brother, but that didn’t mean he trusted him with Dany. He didn’t think he could trust anyone with her but himself.

Oberyn nodded, resigned. “Alright, just tell me if you get tired or if you begin to feel worse. We’ll be there by nightfall.”

As his good-brother got up to walk away, he spoke up, his voice hoarse and cracked from the crying he’d done since his mother had left him. 

“Where are you taking us?”

Oberyn looked back at him, dark eyes flickering with something akin to pity, before answering simply, “To a man we can trust.”

* * *

Driftmark was as gloomy as it was the last time he’d visited, Oberyn thought to himself. As the castle began to come into view, he saw a hint of the previous power the Velaryons held in how large and intimidating it looked at first sight, but as he approached, he could see the cracks in the stone, the damp wooden doors, and the miserable soldiers that looked more fit to be ironborn than bannermen of one of the last great Valyrian houses. _Driftmark,_ he thought wryly, _More like Driftwood._

“Are you sure they can be trusted?” asked Ser Willem, as suspicious as always. Funnily enough, the man reminded him of a saner version of Aerys, as he saw traitors everywhere, but he didn’t get aroused every time he lit a candle.

Oberyn smirked humorlessly, “Lucerys is many things, but a Baratheon supporter is not one of them.”

That did little to stop Ser Willem’s incessant scowling, but he dropped the matter. 

They got off the ship and began walking towards the entrance of the great hall, the little Prince still clinging to his sister as if she would float away if he loosened his grip. Oberyn pitied the lad, to lose both parents and his brother, even if one of those parents and said brother were mad fools, at such a young age was no easy thing. At least Viserys had his sister; Rhaenys, on the other hand, was completely alone now. 

The poor girl looked as if she’d seen the stranger himself when she arrived at Sunspear, and her white knight had looked no better, his dirty armor and matted golden hair aside, there was a haunted quality to his green eyes that made him look a hundred years old rather than ten-and-seven.

Elia and his nephew butchered by Lannisters, and his niece saved by one. The Gods did love their japes. 

As they entered the castle, they were greeted by Lord Velaryon’s son and heir Monford, a handsome boy of ten-and-four with the Velaryon coloring, silver hair and sea-green eyes, looking every inch the lord he would one day become. 

“Prince Oberyn,” he greeted.

“Lord Monford.”

As Oberyn’s young traveling companions came through the door, Monford’s eyes widened, and he looked back to Oberyn before clearing his throat and speaking, “This is him, then? Truly?” 

“Aye,” Oberyn replied.

“And the babe?” He leaned over to get a better look, eyes growing even wider when he saw the tuft of silver hair atop her head.

“His sister, the Princess Daenerys.”

“Oh, I wasn’t aware that he had a sis—Alright then.” Monford, recovering from his shock, shook his head and turned to a servant, whispering some order before turning back. 

“Well then, we mustn’t tarry, my father is expecting you in his solar.”

Oberyn nodded silently, waving his hands to the young Prince Viserys, urging him to follow, which the boy did only after a reassuring smile from Ser Willem. 

They followed young Monford through the damp, winding halls of Driftmark. Observing everything as he walked, it was plain to see that the Velaryons were the descendants of the dragonlords. Driftmark, like Dragonstone, was built from black Valyrian stone and had Valyrian glyphs and dragon motifs carved into its cavernous halls. One could believe themselves in Dragonstone were it not for the occasional seahorse banner hung from the walls. 

After two minutes of walking around the miserable halls of the castle, they reached the solar of Lord Velaryon. The doors opened and revealed Lucerys Velaryon, a handsome man of two-and-thirty with the same silver hair and sea-green eyes as his son. He silently waved them in before turning to his guards and speaking, “Leave us.”

The guards obeyed and left the solar, closing the door behind them. Lucerys got up and walked over to Prince Viserys, kneeling before him, a small smile on his face.

“Hello, my Prince, do you remember me?” he asked softly.

“Lord Velaryon,” the boy looked both shocked and immensely relieved.

“Yes, my Prince, I am. I was on your father’s small council, as you know. Rest assured, you are safe with me. The Usurper has no power here.”

Viserys looked ready to drop to the floor in relief, before remembering his baby sister in his arms.

“And who’s this?” Lucerys asked, though, underneath the sweetness, there was a silent ‘What the fuck?’ aimed at Oberyn.

“My sister,” Viserys replied.

“Ah,” he said, “She’s lovely. Say, I’m sure you, the Princess, and Ser Willem would like to rest, I’ll have my son Monford show you to your rooms. How does that sound, my prince?”

Viserys looked at him warily, before giving him the smallest of nods, and following Monford and Willem out of the solar. 

As soon as the doors closed behind them, Lucerys turned to Oberyn, “What in the seven hells?! A sister?!”

Oberyn, sensing a headache-inducing rant from his accomplice, held his hands out and said, “I had no idea Rhaella was with child.”

Lucerys slightly deflated, though he began pacing around the room madly, muttering to himself for a few minutes before turning back to Oberyn. 

“This makes things immensely more complicated.”

“I agree.”

The cheeky remark earned him a sharp glare from Lucerys, though he deflated, walked back over to his desk, and sat down.

“And the Princess Rhaenys? You mentioned her in the letter, though I dare not have much hope.”

“She is safe at Sunspear.”

Lucerys breathed out a sigh, “Thank the gods. Though, I have to ask, how is she at Sunspear and not wrapped up in a Lannister cloak?”

Oberyn tensed visibly at the reminder of what Clegane and Lorch did to his sister and nephew, but decided to let it go and simply replied, “She was spirited away by Jaime Lannister.”

Lucerys’s turquoise eyes looked fit to bulge out of his head at this news before he let out a disbelieving laugh.

“Gods, what I would’ve given to be a fly on the wall in Tywin’s solar when he heard.”

Oberyn shook his head, “He didn’t. Rhaenys, to the rest of the kingdoms, is dead. The spider switched her out with a crofter’s daughter who had the same look. Jaime Lannister, as far as Tywin is concerned, has fled the country to escape the King’s Justice.” 

“But, if the spider switched out Princess Rhaenys, why couldn’t he do the same for Prince Aegon?”

“He wasn’t meant to. He only offered safety for Rhaenys, claiming that Aegon would be more difficult to hide. Besides, I don’t think even he would have anticipated such butchery. He most likely thought that the honorable Lords Arryn, Stark, and Baratheon wouldn’t harm an innocent babe and its mother, and switched Rhaenys out just to pacify Elia for the time being, but alas, Lord Tywin made it to the capital first,” Oberyn practically spit out the last sentence.

“What will you do with her?” Lucerys asked.

Oberyn smirked, “I have four bastard daughters, what’s one more? From this day forth, she will be…hm…Deria Sand.”

The name earned a bark of a laugh from Lord Velaryon, “The Princess who brought Meraxes’s skull to the capital. Let it not be said that you do not have a sense of humor.”

Oberyn gave him a small smile, before clearing his throat, “Yes, well, though I am just as happy as you at my niece’s continued existence, what are you going to do with our new Princess?” 

At this, Lucerys sobered. “Yes, that. Well, I do have one idea, though I fear my wife will not be too happy with it.”

“Oh?”

“Lysandra gave birth a few days ago.”

“Congratulations.”

“She was a stillborn.”

Oberyn gave the man a sympathetic frown, before asking, “You have my condolences, but what does this have to do with the Princess?”

“Not many except the maester, my eldest son, my wife, and I know that the girl did not live.”

At this, Oberyn leaned forward in his chair, curiosity peaked, “You mean to pass her off as your own?”

“Until she comes of an age and we are ready, yes. What is the girl’s name?”

“Daenerys.”

Lucerys shook his head, “No, that won’t do. It’s a Targaryen name.” He leaned back in his chair, fiddling with a carved wooden seahorse on his desk before adding, “Daenaera. It’s close enough, and it’s a proper Velaryon name.” 

“And what of the Prince Viserys? Forgive me, my lord, but I do not think many will believe he popped out of your wife’s womb already past eight namedays.”

Lucerys glared at him and opened his mouth to issue a sharp rebuke before Oberyn added “Peace, my lord. I was only jesting.”

Lucerys still glared at him, though he continued, “No, we won’t be able to pass him off as my wife’s, though we may pass him off as mine.”

“He will be your bastard, then?”

“Yes. Better that he grow up a bastard here in Westeros than as some vagrant gallivanting across the free cities from one magister’s house to the next. Besides, it won’t be forever. We’ll shape the boy into a good ruler, and when the time comes, we will reveal the both of them, along with Rhaenys, and strike.”

“Which houses will stand with you?” Oberyn asked curiously.

“My wife is a Celtigar, and they came over from Valyria with the Targaryens like us, so them. My good-mother is a Musgood, so I suppose we could count on their support as well. I’m close with Lords Staunton, Sunglass, Brune, Bar Emmon, Massey, and Connington. Especially Connington we can count on, considering how poor Jon drooled over the Prince.”

Oberyn snorted, “Ah yes, I recall how the poor lad’s face grew redder than his beard whenever Rhaegar looked in his direction.”

Lucerys nodded his head ruefully, “Aside from them, mayhaps I could get the Hightowers on our side as well. I don’t know Lord Baelor well, but he seems a good man, and I know he had a care for Elia.”

Oberyn looked down at his hands, “Yes, he did. Pity I didn’t convince her to marry him. I treated all her suitors with such flippancy, I practically pushed her into his arms.” He laughed humorlessly, "My perfectionism and mother’s ambition killed her.”

Lucerys looked at him with pity, “You couldn’t have known. Besides, whatever Rhaegar did, he gave your sister two children that she loved. Whatever’s happened, we still have one of them to protect, and it does her no good to spend your time self-flagellating.”

Oberyn blinked away the wetness in his eyes and cleared his throat, changing the subject, “How many men can you provide?”

Lucerys shook his head, “A little over 5,000. A decent amount, but nowhere near enough to take King’s Landing. What’s worse, is that now that the royal navy has been destroyed, those 5,000 men are useless. Velaryons are of the sea, not the land. What about Dorne?”

“Right now, 40,000 spears. We lost 10,000 men on the Trident. It’s a good amount, but, as you say, not enough now that the Lannisters have entered the fray. We would need allies.”

Lucerys nodded, silently crunching the numbers in his head while twirling around the wooden seahorse in one hand.

Oberyn evaluated the man before him. Lucerys Velaryon was always an enigma to him. He was one of the few on the small council that was loyal to Aerys rather than Rhaegar and vehemently opposed every effort Rhaegar’s supporters made to undermine Aerys.

“I have to ask you something, my lord.”

Lucerys lifted a silver eyebrow before nodding his assent. 

“We began our correspondence in the hopes that you would help me remove Rhaegar in favor of my nephew, Aegon, after the war was won.”

“Yes.”

“Why? I mean, I, of course, had my reasons, after Rhaegar humiliated my sister and spent a year fucking the Stark girl in a tower, in Dorne of all places. I did not intend for him to come back and happily skip up the steps to the iron throne after all he did, but why you? You were always fiercely loyal to Aerys, and showed no signs of supporting Rhaegar, who was clearly the better option.”

“Was he?”

Oberyn blinked, not expecting this answer, “What?”

“Was he? The better option?” Lucerys clarified.

“Aerys was mad!” Oberyn replied, incredulous.

“Aye, as was his son. Taking the Stark chit all but proved that. That boy may as well have been born with two heads, one in the clouds and one up his arse,” Oberyn snorted, and Lucerys continued, “Rhaegar may have been preferable to Aerys, but the boy was a prophecy obsessed fool. He was handsome, well-liked, and made all the ladies weep when he played the harp, yes, yes, the perfect prince. But, if knowing Aerys in his youth taught me one thing, it’s that a perfect prince does not make a perfect king. I held no love for the man Aerys became, but I held none for his son, either. I sided with Aerys, yes, but that does not mean I wanted him as my king.”

If it was possible, Oberyn was now even more confused than before. Lucerys must have read the look on his face because he continued. 

“Aerys was frail and sick. The man barely ate and constantly cut himself on that bloody pointy chair, he would’ve died soon enough. Rhaegar, on the other hand, would’ve ascended the throne as a hale and hearty young man who would’ve most likely ruled for 30 years at the very least. Had he been disinherited, however…”

“…Aerys’s successor would’ve been Aegon or Viserys. But, I do not recall you having any particular attachment to Elia or my nephew, so why would you prefer an infant and an eight-year-old over a capable adult?”

“My daughter is five,” he responded, as if it answered everything. Though, thinking about it, Oberyn realized, it did answer everything. _Clever bastard,_ Oberyn thought. He chuckled drily, “You wanted your daughter to be Queen.”

A smile grew on Lucerys’s face, “Took you long enough to get it,” he answered cheekily. Lucerys stood up from his desk and walked over to the window, looking out at the angry seas before speaking, “House Velaryon has sired five Targaryen Queens and four Targaryen Kings. We were once the richest house in the realm, and one of the most powerful. We bled ourselves and our coffers dry for Rhaenyra Targaryen during the Dance, and for her grandson Daeron during the Conquest of Dorne, and suddenly since we don’t have as much coin, we’re no longer desirable. Two-and-a-half centuries of loyalty and shared blood, forgotten. No more Velaryon queens, no more honors. We were cast aside. As Aerys’s paranoia grew and Rhaegar fell out of favor, I saw an opportunity. We both know that Aerys was obsessed with getting Rhaegar a proper valyrian bride, and as my daughter was barely a year old at the time, he had to settle for the closest thing, your sister. Meaning no offense, of course.” 

Oberyn began grinding his teeth slightly, but knowing it wasn’t meant as an insult, nodded. “None taken.”

“Aerys was going to disinherit Rhaegar, but still wanted his line to be continued by a woman of Valyrian stock. I, of course, ever the faithful servant, suggested my daughter, Laena. Since Aerys had proof of my loyalty and knew I was one of the few who hadn’t betrayed him, he was more than happy to agree. He planned to disinherit Rhaegar once he came back from the Trident to stop him from taking the throne, and he wanted to make Viserys the heir. Though, after you contacted me, I suggested the Prince Aegon instead. Unfortunately, due to our circumstances, those plans have come to an end.”

Oberyn nodded miserably, “Yes, they have.” He swallowed the lump in his throat and pressed on, “So, what are your plans now?”

“We cannot strike now, that is for certain. The usurper’s forces may be weary and depleted but so are ours. If we still had the royal navy, it might make a difference but it does us no good to dwell on what could’ve been. As for the children, they will stay here, and be raised as my own. Rhaenys will stay in Dorne, and you’ll do the same. When the Usurper is vulnerable and the children are of an age, we reveal everything to them. Daenerys will not know she is anything other than my daughter until the time is right, and Viserys will be sworn to secrecy."

"We should begin making overtures to other regions, however. The North, Riverlands, Stormlands, and the Vale are of course out of the question. And now that the usurper has wed ‘The Light Of The West’, Cersei Lannister, the Westerlands are out as well. That leaves the Reach and the Iron Islands. The Tyrells owe everything they have to the Targaryens, are not favored by the Baratheons since they remained loyalists, and that bumbling fool Mace desperately wants to be tied to the royal family. Make some overtures to the Queen of Thorns, mayhaps we can match Daenerys and her grandson Willas.”

“Consider it done.”

“The Greyjoys are also nothing to scoff at, however distasteful they may be, their navy is the most powerful in the realm, and if nothing else, will be able to match the bastards at sea. Balon has a daughter that is of an age with my youngest son, Jacaerys. I may reach out to him soon with regards to a betrothal.” 

Lucerys eyed him queerly, then sat back down and carefully said the next words, “That just leaves Rhaenys and Viserys.”

_Ah,_ Oberyn thought, _Now comes the crux of the negotiations._

“You want to know what will happen with your Velaryon Queen.”

Lucerys nodded, “I do. While Prince Viserys is very dear to me, and I’m sure his sister will become so as well, I do hope I’m not risking certain death by hiding away the future King for nothing.”

Oberyn grinned wolfishly, “Fear not, my friend, you will have your Velaryon Queen, tis a matter of ‘when’, not ‘if’.”

“Explain.”

“Gladly. My brother wants Viserys to wed Arianne, you want him to wed your sweet Laena instead. We do not have to decide this matter right now, though, I want to make it clear that even if he ends up with Arianne, you will not be walking away from this with nothing.”

“How so?”

“We would give you Rhaenys, and she would wed your Monford.”

Intrigued, Lucerys leaned forward onto his desk, “Rhaenys Targaryen is four years old, my son is ten-and-four.”

“Yes?”

“He would have to wait until he was four-and-twenty to wed.”

“Come now, Lord Velaryon, it is not as if he would be an old man. I am seven-and-twenty and I know I will be having many more daughters in the future. Besides, wouldn’t a Targaryen princess be worth the wait?”

Lucerys leaned back in his chair, steepling his fingers together on his desk, “Even if I were to agree, how does this result in a Velaryon Queen?”

_Now it’s time to reel in the seahorse,_ “Simple, we both know how fond Targaryens are of ‘keeping the blood pure.’ The daughter of Monford and Rhaenys would be of Valyrian stock not just from both sides, but from all four grandparents. Which would make their daughter a prime candidate for the next queen.”

“I don’t want a prime candidate. I want a queen,” Lucerys replied bluntly, “I would be inclined to agree to this, but I want it in writing that a daughter of Rhaenys and Monford would be immediately betrothed to Viserys’s heir upon her birth.”

_Reeled it in,_ “Of course, nothing less.”

“And just to be clear, this isn’t me giving up Viserys to Arianne, as you said, we will come back to the matter when it is time.”

“Absolutely.”

“Very well, I would agree to this betrothal then.”

“Perfect, I will begin writing up the documents as soon as possible.” 

“Although,” Lucerys continued, “If the usurper still rules by the time Rhaenys and Monford wed, how exactly will this work? House Velaryon may not be as powerful as we used to be, but we are still nowhere near lowly enough to wed our heir to a bastard, or at least, someone thought to be a bastard by the public.”

Oberyn raised an eyebrow, “I would have her legitimized long before that, in fact, it will be one of the first things I do once I get back to Sunspear.”

“How? It isn’t as if the usurper has shown himself fond enough of House Martell to legitimize a daughter of yours.”

“Simple. My friend, Lady Ashara Dayne, is currently staying at Sunspear. Lady Ashara had a bastard daughter of her own three years ago, though unfortunately the babe was sickly and died shortly after the birth, but not many know this. Elia was like a sister to Ashara, she is more than happy to protect her daughter. I have spoken to her, and she is willing to acknowledge Rhaenys as hers and my bastard daughter. Furthermore, we are also willing to wed. Since she would be acknowledged by both parents, after we wed she would immediately become Deria _Martell_ , trueborn daughter of Oberyn Martell and the lady Ashara Dayne, without any sort of decree from the usurper necessary.” Unable to resist making Lucerys eat crow for his earlier choice of words, he added, “I hardly think a Princess of Dorne would be considered too _lowly_ for Monford to wed.”

Lucerys looked at him blankly for a few seconds, then a slow smirk spread on his face, “Prince Doran truly is a clever bastard.”

This time Oberyn’s smile was full of mirth, “My brother has his talents, yes.”

Lucerys stood up from his desk, “Very well. I believe we are done for today, begin writing up those documents. I would have them signed before you leave next month. On the morrow, we shall speak more, and before you leave we shall tell the Prince and Monford of our plans. I will also have to tell my wife about the situation with Daenerys, which I do not expect will be pleasant for either of us.”

Oberyn grimaced, “Well, I wish you good fortune with that one, my friend. I will see you on the morrow.”

With that, Oberyn walked out of the solar.


	2. Lucerys I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lucerys informs Monford and the young king about his plans, and introduces his family to their new 'siblings'.

_"Words are wind, and the wind that blows exiles across the narrow sea seldom blows them back. That boy Viserys Targaryen spoke of return as well. He slipped through my fingers at Dragonstone, only to spend his life wheedling after sellswords. "The Beggar King," they called him in the Free Cities."_

_-Stannis Baratheon to Justin Massey_

* * *

The bruise on Lucerys’s face still stung, even after he’d had the Maester put some ointments on it. True to his expectations, Lysandra did not take the news of their new ‘daughter’ well.

Of course, he couldn’t exactly blame her. He grieved for his daughter, his little Maerea, the poor child who’d never gotten the chance to take a breath, who’d left this world the moment she entered it, but what choice did he have? If all of a sudden two bastard children of his with silver hair and purple eyes matching the ages of the missing Prince and Rhaella’s supposedly stillborn daughter popped up it would be far too much of a coincidence for the usurper to ignore. This way, no one would question a new babe knowing that Lysandra had been pregnant.

Unfortunately, Daenerys had the deep, almost glowing violet eyes of the Targaryens and not the sea-green shade of the Velaryons or the pale-blue shade of the Celtigars, though that could be brushed off as something she inherited from generations past. After all, Lucerys’s own mother was a Lyseni noblewoman who had the same eye color. Yes, this would work. 

All they needed to do was keep up the charade for long enough, then strike when the usurper was at his weakest. If Lucerys knew anything about Robert Baratheon, it was that he was a warrior, and warriors are not the type to sit still and do nothing. No, there would be another war, of that he was certain. Mayhaps not today, mayhaps not next year, but one day. For now, they would just have to bide their time. 

Viserys, however, troubled him. The boy had always been lively and energetic, always chasing his niece and that demonic beast of a kitten around the red keep, or flitting around the Kingsguard, pestering them with questions about swords and duels. For the past few days, however, he’d been completely miserable. He barely spoke, and when he did he sounded far more haunted than an eight-year-old boy had the right to be, he almost never ate without being coerced by Ser Willem or Oberyn, and he refused to be parted with that sister of his. He slept in her chambers, he carried her around all day.

 _Hells, if the boy had teats he’d probably feed her from his breast_ , Lucerys thought wryly. 

Today he’d need to inform him and Monford of his plans. Oberyn would depart for the Reach in three days' time to meet with Olenna Tyrell, and he would need all of their signatures on the documents he would be taking with him.   
Monford would take the news in stride. His son wouldn’t be thrilled about being betrothed to a toddler, but Monford was a dutiful lad, and would know that this was what was best for the family. 

Viserys, on the other hand, was a wild card. The boy was never vicious or cruel, but he was insanely prideful. To be cast down from a prince to the bastard son of a minor lord would not sit well with him, but he would have to power through. Besides, it wouldn’t be forever. Viserys would surely see this. _Or he won’t, and I’m setting myself up for certain doom by believing I can reason with an eight-year-old._

He waited in his solar with Oberyn until he heard a telltale knock from the door, signaling Monford and Viserys’s arrival.  
“Enter,” he called out.

The door opened and revealed his son and the young King. Monford was dressed in Velaryon green, giving his father a silent nod of greeting before moving to sit down. Viserys, with his sister wrapped up in his arms, gave a clumsy bow and waddled over to the other chair. If people didn’t know who was who, they’d think his son was the King, and Viserys the minor lordling.

“Thank you both for joining me. There are some urgent matters I’d like to discuss with you before Prince Oberyn leaves.”

Monford nodded, “What is it, Father?”

“First, allow me to congratulate you, Monford.”

Monford blinked owlishly for a moment before responding warily, “Congratulate me for what, Father?”

Lucerys smiled at his son, “You are a man betrothed, my son.”

Monford sputtered, “B-b-betrothed?! T-to who?”

“Princess Rhaenys Targaryen.”

Monford’s jaw dropped in a way most unworthy of a lord’s heir, but he seemed to catch himself and promptly schooled his expression into something more inscrutable, “Forgive me, father, but isn’t Princess Rhaenys dead?”

Viserys flinched in the corner, lilac eyes glistening with unshed tears and his lip trembling, but Lucerys was quick to interject, “No, Monford. The Princess is alive and well, currently residing at Sunspear under a false identity.”

Viserys visibly sagged in relief and wiped his eyes with one hand, the other clutching his sister closer to his chest. Monford, on the other hand, seemed too shocked to speak, before gathering himself once more and asking, “While these are joyous tidings indeed, isn’t the princess a girl of four?”

Lucerys snorted, “You wouldn’t wed her today, my boy. You will wed Princess Rhaenys once she comes of age, which won’t be for another ten years.”

Monford heaved out a sigh of relief, though tensed up for a moment and looked at his father warily, “But, father, if the usurper still rules ten years from now, how will we—“

“—If the usurper is still on the throne by the time you wed, You will wed the Princess, but under her false identity of the Princess Deria of House Martell, daughter of Prince Oberyn Martell and his wife, the Lady Ashara Dayne. In time, her true identity will be revealed for all to hear, but until then, she will remain Princess Deria.”

Monford seemed even more shocked if that was possible, but ultimately resigned himself to his father’s plots and answered him with a meek nod, and a murmured “Yes, father.”

“You should rejoice, my boy,” piped up a smirking Prince Oberyn from the back of the room, “My niece is a lovely girl, and I’m sure she will grow to be even more beautiful than her lady mother.”

Monford turned around, seeming terrified of having insulted the Red Viper’s beloved niece, “I didn’t mean to—I mean, I’m sure she is a lovely girl, my prince—it’s—well—just a bit of a shock, that’s all, I-I’m sure you understand.”

Prince Oberyn, far from being offended, seemed quite amused at his son’s fervent apologies, and merely nodded his understanding.

“Now, there is also the matter of what we will do with the King Viserys and the Princess Daenerys.”

Viserys looked up from where he was previously focusing on his sister, and almost whispered, “Me?”

Lucerys smiled encouragingly, “Yes, you, your grace. Since you are now King, in addition to how we make sure you and the princess are safe here, there are some matters we need to take care of.”

Viserys blinked, “What—“ he cleared his throat, straightening up in an effort to look more kingly, “What matters are these?” he answered in as firm a voice as an eight-year-old could manage.

Something that sounded distinctly like a cough disguising a laugh came from Prince Oberyn’s spot in the back of the room.

“First, When you ascend to your rightful throne, House Velaryon would, of course, expect some reward for keeping you and the Princess safe, your grace.”

Viserys blushed, “Y-Yes, my lord, of course. Name me your wish, and should it be within my power, I shall grant it.”

Lucerys smiled, _This one already knows the language of the court, he’ll manage that pit of vipers just fine._ “I would request that the crown give us rulership over a few portions of the Crownlands.”

“Portions, my lord?” the question came from an amused Oberyn.

Lucerys smiled thinly, “Yes, my lord, portions. In addition to our island of Driftmark, we would request rulership over the island of Sweetport. On the mainland, we would request dominion over the lands of Cracklaw Point as far west and including Rook’s Rest, as well as the lands of Massey’s Hook as far as the Wendwater.”

Viserys looked overwhelmed at all the various locations coming out of his mouth, probably not understanding most of what Lucerys was saying, but nevertheless, nodded his assent, “Consider it done, my lord.”

The boy-king grabbed the quill with his free hand and signed the parchment.

“I thank you, your grace. I would also like you to sign your assent to a match between your sister, the Princess Daenerys, and Lord Willas Tyrell, heir to Highgarden. As the head of House Targaryen, it falls to you to approve the match.”

Viserys flushed, “A-a-a match? But, she’s just a babe, she can’t—“

“Of course not, your grace. She wouldn’t marry Lord Willas now, they would wed once she came of age.”

Viserys visibly relaxed at this, but still seemed taut as a bowstring, “Why should I consent to this? I don’t know Lord Willas, for all I know he could be a bad man, he could hurt her, like father hurt mother.”

Lucerys’s face twisted in pain at the reminder of what Aerys reduced Rhaella to. In her youth, she’d been a charming and lively girl, but after she wed Aerys, the years and his madness wore away at her. He’d heard rumors about the savageries Aerys committed against her, but he found that having them confirmed, by their eight-year-old son, no less, stung.

“Your Grace, if I may speak freely?” piped up Prince Oberyn.

Viserys looked at him warily before nodding, “You may.”

“I know Lord Willas, and though we are not very close, he is not like that. He’s very gallant and has a reputation for being a kind young man. I’m sure that he would make a fine husband for your lovely sister.”

Viserys, though still tense, seemed to loosen up at this, “He won’t hurt her? You’re certain?”

“I am, your Grace. Lord Willas is not that kind of man. Besides, we will need the Tyrells on our side if we hope to take back your family’s throne.”

Viserys looked down at his sister and though he still seemed hesitant, ultimately nodded, albeit miserably. “Very well, but if he hurts her—“

“—If he harms her, we will make him curse the day he was born, your grace. This I swear to you, as a brother who also loves— _loved_ his sister,” Oberyn nodded solemnly.  
Viserys, satisfied, picked up the quill and signed the parchment. 

Lucerys tipped his head, “I thank you, your grace. Now, let us speak on your living situation.”

Viserys gulped, tightening his grip on the little princess, “Living situation, my lord?”

“You and the Princess will be staying here with me. You will live here at Driftmark, you will be educated, clothed, and provided for by myself and the Lady Velaryon. You will be safe with us, your grace.”

The boy looked ready to throw himself before Lucerys’s feet with gratitude but was still holding his sister and thought better of it.

“However—In order to stay here, you cannot continue to live as Viserys and Daenerys Targaryen.”

“My lord?”

“You and your sister must be given new identities, at least until we take back your family’s throne. Tis the only way you will remain safe here, your grace.”

Viserys looked shocked at this, and began sputtering incoherently, before gathering up the proper words and asking, “Who? Who else would we be?”

Lucerys steeled himself for this conversation, “My wife recently gave birth to a daughter, however, the girl was stillborn. Your sister is only a few days younger than she would’ve been, so we will pass her off as our lost daughter. From this day, she will be known as Daenaera Velaryon, until the time comes to reveal to her and the seven kingdoms, the truth of her identity.”

Monford looked pained at the reminder of the sister he never knew, but nodded in acceptance. The young king, on the other hand, looked completely taken aback, as if this was the last thing he’d expected, and asked, “She won’t know who she is? Who she truly is?”

“No, your grace. And you cannot tell her, not until the time is right. To do so would be most dangerous.”

Viserys looked distraught as he stared into the eyes of the small bundle in his arms, but nodded miserably before asking Lucerys quietly, “Can I still call her Dany?”

Lucerys frowned sympathetically at the boy and nodded his approval, “I don’t see why not. The names are similar enough.”

He nodded, before looking up at Lucerys with bright lilac eyes, and asked almost frightened, “And me?”

 _This is the difficult part_. “You will be acknowledged as my son, Aurane. Aurane…Waters.”

Viserys looked as if a bucket of cold water had been poured on his head and began trembling from head to toe, “You-Waters?! You would name me a bastard?!” he cried, no longer bothering to wipe away the tears spilling onto his cheeks. 

Oberyn walked over to the boy and quietly pulled the Princess into his arms so Viserys wouldn’t drop her, and to his surprise, the boy let him.

“Now, Viserys, you must listen—“

“NO! I won’t do it, I can’t, I am—I am not a bastard! I am a prince of the blood—No, a King! A-a-and I won’t leave my sister, I won’t be sent away, I’ll die before you send me away!” 

“Viserys!” Lucerys called sternly, grabbing the boy by the shoulders. “Listen to me, no one is dying, and no one is going to send you away. I told you that you and your sister would stay here, and I meant it. She will still grow up knowing you as her brother, but—“

“No! I won’t be her brother, I’ll be her shame! Bastards are vile creatures who only know lust and greed—“

As the boy waxed poetic on the evils of bastardy, Lucerys found himself wanting to strangle whichever dried up old cunt of a septa poisoned his ears with this nonsense.  
“Viserys!!” Lucerys yelled, gripping the boy even harder around the shoulders, “Look at me!”

The boy quieted at once and shrunk back from the rebuke, and Lucerys found himself feeling like a monster, as the yelling probably reminded him of his mad father, but he had no other options left. 

In a softer, but no less stern voice, he continued, “I know that this is not ideal, but I need you to understand something. If you do not do this, you will not just be killing yourself, you will be killing your sister, you will be killing Rhaenys, Oberyn, Monford, Lady Velaryon, Laena, Jacaerys, and myself. Is that what you want?”

Viserys’s lip trembled and his tears were practically flowing out his eyes now, but he shook his head, silver curls flopping about. 

“This is a matter of life and death. Tell me your name.”

“Vis—“

Lucerys shook the boy, “No! Your new name, tell me your new name.”

“Lucerys…” Oberyn said warningly.

“Au-Aurane, W-w-waters,” he croaked out, openly weeping.

“Repeat it.”

“Aurane Waters.”

“Keep on repeating it until I tell you to stop.”

“Aurane Waters, Aurane Waters, Aurane Waters…” he looked up at him pleadingly.

“Don’t stop.”

“Lucerys, that’s enough,” Oberyn replied, handing the babe, who was now wailing, off to a shocked Monford.

“Keep going,”

“Aurane Waters, Aurane Waters, Aurane Waters…”

“Lucerys!” Oberyn pulled the boy, who was now reduced to a sobbing mess out of his grasp and wrapped him up in his arms, allowing him to weep into his doublet, “You’re terrifying him!!”

“Good!” Lucerys replied stubbornly, “This isn’t a game of bloody cyvasse, this is war! I don’t derive any enjoyment from this, but he needs to understand what’s at stake here!”

“The boy has lost his good-sister, his nephew, his brother, mother, and father!” hissed Oberyn, “Do you truly think he doesn’t know what’s at stake?!”

“Oberyn—“

“He is a boy! It would serve him better to run around outside, play with his sister, do—“

“Aye, and if my grandmother had wheels she would be a carriage! But alas, she doesn’t, and nor does he have the luxury of ignoring the gravity of the situation. I am putting not just my life, but the lives of my entire house at risk for this!”

“As am I!” Oberyn barked furiously, “Or have you forgotten about a certain girl residing at Sunspear that would be the death of my house were her identity to be revealed?!”

Lucerys glared at the prince, green eyes on brown, until he exhaled and paced across the solar to pull himself together. 

Oberyn was right, he’d lost control. The boy needed to be reminded of the gravity of the situation, true, but mayhaps not like this. Sighing, he walked back over to the little King and tapped him on the shoulder.

Viserys turned around, and once his eyes made contact with Lucerys he quickly buried his face back into Oberyn’s doublet. 

“Viserys, I wish to ask for your forgiveness,” he said in as gentle a voice as he could muster, “I am merely worried for my family, I would wish to keep them safe. You and Daenerys are my family as well. We are kin, Targaryen and Velaryon. Kin protects each other, and I fear I let my tendency to be over-protective get the better of me. I am truly sorry for frightening you.”

Viserys turned his head slightly to the side, and looked back at Lucerys, though he was still clinging on to Oberyn, and spoke in a broken voice, “I forgive you, my lor—“ he cleared his throat, “I suppose I should call you father.”

Lucerys blinked, surprised that the boy was already agreeing to the plan he had been so vehemently opposed to less than two minutes ago.

Nodding, he spoke, “Yes, you can. Though you can call me Lord Velaryon if it is less difficult, most bas— _natural_ sons and daughters address their parents by their title often.”

Viserys nodded, slowly letting go of Oberyn, and wiped his face with the back of his hands before reaching out to Monford signaling that he wanted his sister and Monford quickly obliged, placing the girl into her brother’s arms gingerly.

Viserys turned back to him and asked him something that threw him off guard for a moment, “Who is my mother meant to be?”

 _Rhaella Targaryen_ , he wanted to say, _A lovely, kind woman who would be horrified at her precious boy being reduced to a bastard._ But though the sudden feeling of guilt began to nibble away at him, he knew it was for the best.

“A Lyseni merchant’s daughter named Larra. She died of greyscale two moons past, so I decided to take you into my household.”

“Did she love me?”

This question was just as surprising as the last, though Lucerys knew that the boy had lost his entire family, and most likely just wanted to know that he was loved, even if it was only by a mother who both of them knew never existed. 

“Yes,” he replied, “Very much.”

Viserys nodded, looking back down at his now slumbering sister. 

Lucerys hated himself for what he had to do next, but Lysandra needed to be introduced to the babe sooner or later, as it would look queer for a babe not to spend any time with her mother, and all her time with her bastard half-brother.

“Aurane.”

It took a tad longer than he would’ve liked for Viserys to realize that Lucerys was calling him, but he responded dutifully.

“Yes, Lord Velaryon?”

“I need to take your sister to go see her mother, now. It wouldn’t do for a newborn babe not to spent anytime with her mother wouldn’t you agree?”

Viserys’s face crumpled, and for a second Lucerys thought he would cry again, but he, rather masterfully, shook off the emotions and handed him Daenerys, albeit a bit more roughly than necessary.

“Of course, my Lord.”

“Monford,” he called for his elder son.

Monford was still clearly reeling from all that had happened here in the past ten minutes, but shook his head and called back, “Yes, father?”

“Take your brother to his rooms, I think he should be tired after all this.”

Monford stared at him queerly, silently saying, _'_ _Jacaerys isn’t here, father, have you lost your wits?'_ Before realizing he was referring to his new ‘brother’. Then, his eyes widened to a comical degree, and he gave Viserys a sheepish smile before putting a hand on his shoulder and leading him out of the solar.

* * *

When he entered his rooms carrying Daenerys, his wife looked ready to strike him once more until he placed the warm bundle in her arms. After that, she melted completely and gently rocked her in her arms, singing her old valyrian lullabies until she fell back asleep. 

“Rhaella’s girl,” Lysandra said, sadly. In response, the babe grabbed on to a lock of her adoptive mother’s long silver hair and giggled happily.

“Your girl, now. She has to be.”

Lysandra looked at him queerly with those pale eyes of hers, before speaking once more, “How do you think she’ll react when we tell her?”

Lucerys shook his head, absently running a thumb along his wife’s collarbone, “That’s a long ways away. I reckon she’ll take it better than her brother took his own new identity today.”

She scoffed, “Well, what did you expect? One second you’re treating him as if he’s already on the damned throne, signing papers for land and trade and betrothals, then the next you tell him he’s going to go from a King to a bastard.”

He grimaced, “Yes, in hindsight having him sign those papers before telling him was not the best idea.”

Lysandra shook her head, “Well, however you mucked it up, fear not. I shall fix everything, as I always do.”

He chuckled, “Yes, you certainly do.”

"Have you introduced him to Laena and Jace yet?”

Lucerys shook his head, “No. They’ve been staying in the eastern wing of the keep, and Viserys—“

“—Aurane,” his wife corrected him.

“ _Aurane_ doesn’t seem to be as adventurous as he once was.”

“Who could blame the boy? To lose your home, your family at such a young age. It’s unimaginable.”

He sighed, “Nevertheless, I think it’s time for Aurane to meet his siblings.”

“Will you tell them his true name?”

“No, tis too dangerous. Monford must be the only one to know. Laena and Jacaerys will know him as their bastard brother, and Daenaera as their new sister.”

She sighed wearily, “Very well. Shall we summon them?”

Lucerys sputtered, “Wha— _Now_?”

Lysandra raised her eyebrows, “Yes, _Now_. You’ve already told him and Monford, and it’s almost time for supper. Or are you planning on keeping him and Daenaera hidden for the entirety of their stay?”

He scowled at his wife’s sarcasm, Lysandra’s famous impertinence was one of the only drawbacks of having the woman as a wife. However, loath as he was to admit it, she was correct. They would need to introduce the children eventually and now was as good a time as any.

He got up, walked to the entrance of his rooms, opened the doors and called out to a serving girl walking down the hall, “You, girl!”

The girl quickly turned around and walked over dutifully, “Yes, m’lord?”

“Notify the children they are to meet me and their lady mother in Starfish Tower for supper. Including my bastard, Aurane.”

“Yes, m’lord.”

The girl quickly turned around and walked away, leaving Lucerys to go back into his rooms and prepare for supper. 

* * *

As his _real_ children entered the hall, Lucerys unwittingly tightened his grip on Viserys’s—Aurane’s shoulder. He wasn’t sure this would go well, though seeing his lady wife’s confident smile helped to ease his worry.

“Father!” Laena cried, shedding all pretenses of decorum and running into his arms. Laena was never one for propriety, and while it irked his wife, it was always a constant source of amusement for him.

He chuckled, “Hello, sweetling. How was your day?” 

“Very good, father! Monford let me spar with him!” 

While his wife looked mortified, and Monford visibly paled, he merely raised an eyebrow, amused.

“Oh? Did he?”

Monford began sputtering, “Lord father, lady mother, I—I—assure you, th-that it was only for a few rounds, nothing more, I shan’t—“

“Calm yourself, my boy. You are not in any sort of trouble.”

Lysandra looked at him, incredulous, so he was forced to relent a smidge.

“Nevertheless, don’t make this into a habit, hear me?”

Monford nodded, and Laena visibly slumped, though he sent his girl a wink and she perked up just a bit.

Lysandra caught this, and raised an eyebrow. Though Lysandra was nothing like the mewling, submissive ladies that most girls were taught was the ideal woman, that didn’t mean she threw all those customs to the wind. Sure, his wife was impertinent, brash, and far too sarcastic for her own good, but she knew to curb those behaviors in public and put on her mask, while Laena had no mask to speak of, much to her mother’s chagrin.

“Anyways, We wanted to bring you here to meet your new siblings.”

Jacaerys’ and Laena’s eyes widened at this, and they looked to Monford, who nodded, before looking at the babe in Lysandra’s arms.

“Siblings?” they chorused.

“Aye, you remember your lady mother was with child, don’t you?” they nodded, “Well, after the babe was born, she was a bit sickly, so we decided not to say anything until she began recovering. That’s why your mother’s been in her rooms for the past few days, she’s been attending to your new sister.”

Lysandra was, in fact, locked in her rooms because she was grieving over their stillborn daughter, though it wasn’t as if they needed to know that.

“I have a sister?” Laena asked, pale blue eyes filled with wonderment.

He smiled, “Yes, sweetling, you do. Her name is Daenaera.”

“Daenaera,” she tried out the name, a smile creeping onto her face.

“Can I hold her?” asked Jacaerys, just as enthusiastic as Laena.

He felt Aurane stiffen a bit underneath his grip, though he didn’t say anything. 

“Of course, dear, here— _Careful_ , there you are,” Lysandra settled the babe into Jacaerys’s arms.

He heard a gasp from his son, and for a second his heart lept into his neck, until he exclaimed “Her eyes! They’re purple!” 

Laena looked bewildered while Lucerys visibly relaxed, “Yes, they are. Like your grandmother Marra’s. You remember what I told you of her, don’t you? She was from Lys.”

Jacaerys nodded, “Oh, yes! I see it now, father.”

“Good, well then, now that you’ve acquainted yourselves with your sister, it’s time for you to meet your brother.”

For the first time, both of his children looked up and their eyes flitted over to the lanky eight-year-old boy under their father’s grip, who had the same silver hair as them, though with eyes of lilac rather than green or blue. 

“Brother?” Laena asked, “But, I don’t understand, father?” 

“This is Aurane, sweetling. He’s my natural son.”

Jacaerys’s eyes widened, “A bastard?” he croaked.

Aurane flinched, and Lucerys sighed, “Yes, he is. His mother recently passed on, you see, and now that she has, he has no home. I’ve decided to take him in, and he’s going to be living with us from now on.”

Both Laena and Jacaerys exchanged wary glances before turning expectantly to their mother, who smiled sweetly and replied, “I don’t begrudge Aurane for his birth and neither should you. He has no one else dears, surely you wouldn’t want your brother to be on his own? Bastard or not, he is your kin.”

At this, they both nodded shyly, before turning their eyes back on to their new ‘brother’. 

“Aurane?” Laena asked, looking up at her new brother.

Aurane looked into her eyes and frowned before warily replying, “Yes?”

“Do you like to spar?”

Lysandra groaned and put her head into her hands, while Lucerys tried to stifle a snigger.

Aurane, on the other hand, seemed shocked at Laena’s forwardness before replying, “Yes, I used to spar with Ser—“

Lucerys cleared his throat loudly.

“—with my Uncle Arthur, I mean.”

“Can you teach me?” Jacaerys asked, turning his eyes up from the Princess he’d been holding.

Aurane smiled shyly, “Aye, if you’d like. Though I don’t think I’m near as good as your—our brother.”

“That’s alright, we can help each other get better,” he turned to his father, “With your approval of course, lord father.”

Lucerys smiled, satisfied. “Of course, it would please me very much if you two would spend time together.”

“And me?” Laena asked, clearly peeved by being left out of the sparring plans.

“I’m sure that you’ll be helping me embroider some new clothes for Aurane while he and Jacaerys spar, won’t you sweetling?” Lysandra said in a falsely sweet voice.

Laena’s shoulders slumped before she moodily replied, “Yes, lady mother.”

After that, they sat down to dinner, and the newly enlarged family began to acquaint themselves with one another.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soo our favorite prince and princess have settled into their new home! Next chapter is an entirely new POV that I think may surprise you. *hint hint* he was mentioned by a certain exiled prince in this scene.


	3. Arthur I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The last of the Kingsguard face off against Ned Stark and his men at the Tower Of Joy, and Arthur confronts the effects of Rhaegar's actions at Starfall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heads up, I cannot write fight scenes to save my life, so in the words of Davos, "Apologies for what you're about to see."  
> ALSO, want to make it clear that the views expressed on Lyanna and Rhaegar and Jon are not necessarily my own, before anyone feels the need to criticize them. This is Arthurs POV, not mine. Just because a character says these things does not mean I fully agree with or endorse those views, thank you.

_The finest knight I ever saw was Ser Arthur Dayne, who fought with a blade called Dawn, forged from the heart of a fallen star. They called him the Sword of the Morning, and he would have killed me but for Howland Reed._

_-Eddard Stark to Bran Stark_

* * *

As the heat from the dornish sun beat down on him, Arthur wiped the sweat off his brow and continued sharpening Dawn. _Home,_ he thought bitterly. Though it didn’t feel like it. Instead of bathing in the Torrentine with Ashara and Aurelian, he was at some godsforsaken tower in the red mountains guarding a pregnant, petulant child for a dead prince. 

_Rhaegar_. Arthur loved his friend fiercely, and he grieved his loss, but how he could’ve been so stupid as to do a thing like this, he had no idea. 

To shame your wife, take a man’s betrothed, impregnate her with a bastard, start a war, abandon your wife and children to die would’ve been something he thought Maegor or Aegon the Unworthy was capable of, not Rhaegar. 

No, Rhaegar had never acted maliciously, of that he was certain. But stupidity can be just as cruel as maliciousness. 

Gods, even Elia, and the children had died for his folly. The moment the news had come in from King’s Landing, Arthur had almost screamed himself hoarse trying to convince his brothers to abandon this cursed place and avenge the royal family. 

He’d argued that Rhaegar was dead, as was Aerys, so they were released from their vows to them, but Gerold would have none of it, and Oswell had, albeit reluctantly, agreed with the White Bull. 

To make matters worse, Prince—No, _King_ Viserys was at Dragonstone with the Queen Dowager, and instead of riding hard to protect their King, an innocent boy of eight from the usurper’s wrath, they were guarding a girl who’d dishonored her family and caused the deaths of thousands.

_Was it worth it, Rhaegar?_ he thought angrily, _Was all this madness about prophecies and songs and whatever other flowery horseshit you dredged up from some dusty old tome worth it?_

He hoped it was, elsewise he’d throw himself off the Palestone Sword and save Ashara the trouble. 

“Riders,” Oswell’s husky voice woke him from his thoughts, and he looked up to see his friend squinting into the distance.

He followed his line of sight, and indeed, there were riders, a group of seven, to be exact.

“Their armor,” Gerold pointed out.

“Northerners,” Arthur confirmed.

Oswell snorted humorlessly, “It would appear that Ned Stark has come for his sister.”

“I’m inclined to let him have her.”

Gerold turned to him sharply, “We swore an oath—“

“To a _prince,_ who is now dead!” Arthur whispered furiously, “We are _Kingsguard_ , not nursemaids! We serve the King, and that babe in her belly is a bastard! Our King is on Dragonstone.”

Gerold looked taken aback at the outburst, before half-heartedly arguing, “We still swore an oath to Rhaegar, and besides, whatever her foolish deeds, she’s still a child. Do you intend to leave her here for the usurper’s dogs to find? Do you want her to end up like the princess El—“

_“—Don’t,”_ Arthur said dangerously, “Keep her name out of your mouth. Elia was innocent, this girl is not. Besides, do you really think her brother capable of harming her? Her brother who started a war to get her back from the clutches of the _evil dragon prince?_ No, she’ll be perfectly safe with him.”

Gerold opened his mouth to no doubt issue a sharp rebuke, but before he could, the riders dismounted and began walking towards the last of the Kingsguard.

A young, willowy man who could be none other than Eddard Stark judging from the direwolf sigil on his breastplate approached and greeted them, “Sers.”

Though he wanted nothing more than to give him his sister and leave this wretched tower  to the elements, a rage simmered within him at the sight of this man, this _traitor,_ who helped steal the crown from House Targaryen and stood by whilst Elia and her children were butchered. 

“Lord Stark,” Oswell spit out.

“I looked for you on the Trident,” Stark said to them.

“We were not there,” answered Ser Gerold, stone-faced.

Oswell sneered, “Woe to the usurper if we had been.”

“When King’s Landing fell, Ser Jaime slew your King with a golden sword, and I wondered where you were.”

“Far away,” said Ser Gerold, “Or Aerys would yet sit the iron throne, and our false brother would burn in the seven hells.”

“I came down on Storm’s End to lift the siege,” Stark continued, “And the Lords Tyrell and Redwyne dipped their banners, and their knights bent the knee to pledge us fealty, I was certain you would be among them.”

“Our knees do not bend easily,” Arthur gritted out, rage growing at this pup’s taunts.

“Ser Willem Darry is fled to Dragonstone, with your queen and Prince Viserys—“

“ _King_ Viserys,” Arthur growled, “Forgive me, _Lord Stark_ , but is there a point to this incessant mockery? Speak, _boy_ , what brings you to this cursed place?”

The Warden of the North didn’t bristle at the taunts from Arthur, instead merely lowering his head, and all but whispering, “Where’s my sister?”

As if the gods desired to bring Arthur even more misery, at that moment, a piercing scream cut through the air, coming from the very top of the tower.

Lord Stark’s eyes widened, and before Arthur could begin to explain the madness Rhaegar had put them all through, the northern contingent drew their swords.

Arthur cursed his luck, but Gerold and Oswell had already donned their helms and stood at the ready, so he unsheathed Dawn and sardonically remarked, “So, now it begins.”

“No,” Stark looked almost sad as he responded, “Now it ends.”

The White Bull struck first, making quick work of Stark’s traveling companion, a Ryswell, judging by the sigil on his armor. Next to him, Oswell was holding his own against two others, a barrel-chested man with a gloved fist for a sigil, and quite possibly the shortest man Arthur had ever seen.

Arthur, meanwhile, cut through most of the others as if he was carving a cake. All he had to do was think of Elia, of Rhaegar, of their King awaiting them on Dragonstone, and it fueled him like nothing else. 

When he reached Stark, the young Lord looked to be hesitant to engage in combat with the _Sword of the Morning,_ but struck quickly, a blow that Arthur parried easily. 

As the fight wore on, and Stark commenced a few other weak attacks, it became clear to him in the lackluster skills and the nervous expression that seemed to be permanently etched onto his face, that this monster, this traitor, was really just a _boy. A boy,_ playing at war and politics when he should’ve been laying with tavern wenches or going on hunts. His pitiful attempts at attacking only solidified that fact.

Feeling merciful, Arthur elected to end the fight as peacefully as he could and disarmed the young lord, pointing Dawn at his pale throat.

“Command your men to stand down,” Arthur said dangerously, “And you shall all walk away from this with your heads still attached.”

Stark looked miserable for a moment, until Arthur turned around and saw Oswell and Gerold standing over a pile of bodies that were once the riders they’d seen over the hill not ten minutes ago. The only one still alive was the short one, who’s impossibly green eyes looked over at Stark with worry. 

“Ah,” Arthur grimaced sarcastically, “It appears that is no longer necessary, my lord.”

Stark didn’t bristle at the mockery, instead glancing worriedly at the top of the tower while the wolf-maid’s screams rang out through the valley. 

Knowing the boy wouldn’t harm her, and just wanting this foolishness to be over, Arthur lowered Dawn and sheathed it, stepping aside to let the boy through. 

Stark almost ran to the door until Ser Gerold, covered in the blood of his comrades, stopped him. 

“The lady is birthing the Prince’s child.”

Stark’s mouth opened in horror before Gerold continued.

“Whatever happens to her, you must swear to me that you will not tell the usurper of the babe, lest you wish more innocent blood to be spilled.”

Stark bristled, “Robert wouldn’t—“

“—He _would._ You know what he allowed to happen to the Princess Elia and her children, tell me, has _Good King Robert,_ ” Gerold spat mockingly, “punished _one_ person for their murders?”

Stark looked ready to respond until he deflated and shook his head miserably.

“Swear to me you will not tell him of the babe, or on my honor, I will cut you down where you stand,” Gerold said, low voice only made more intimidating from the way the helm amplified it.

Stark looked up at him and nodded his head, “I swear, I won’t tell Robert of the babe. You have my word, just let me see her, I beg you.”

Gerold evaluated the young lord for a few seconds until acquiescing and stepping aside. 

Stark ran up the steps to the tower, the little man trailing after him.

“Well then,” Oswell said, climbing atop his horse, “Where do we go from here?”

As Arthur saddled up his pale mare, he answered, “Starfall. It’s only two days from here if we ride without stopping. From there, Aurelian can book us safe passage on a ship to Dragonstone.”

“Let us not tarry then,” Gerold said, climbing onto his black dornish steed. He took one last look at the tower Rhaegar had called ‘The Tower of Joy,’ turned westward, and kicked his steed in the side, galloping off. Gerold and Oswell followed suit, riding hard to rescue their King.

* * *

As the impossibly blue waters of the Torrentine came into view and the smell of salt filled the air, Arthur knew he was home. 

He’d expected Starfall to look different after all that had transpired these past two years, but it brought him no small amount of comfort to see that everything had remained the same. 

The limestone walls still stood and proudly displayed the purple banner of House Dayne, the towers were all in their proper places, the people still bustled about in the marketplaces. _Home._

Though their reception was not quite warm when they arrived, that was to be expected. Here stood three so-called knights of the kingsguard who didn’t fight at the Trident, nor did they stay in King’s Landing to protect their Princess and her children. 

Princess Elia had been beloved through all of Dorne, and these men, whose only duty was to protect the King’s family, had failed. Arthur had, to his shame, contemplated riding hard for King’s Landing to accompany Ser Jaime, the only knight who’d stayed, Rhaegar’s orders be damned. 

And mayhaps he should’ve, after all, if he was there, his false brother’s blood would be decorating Dawn, and Tywin’s men wouldn’t have gotten near the Princess or her children. 

He shook his head, whatever had happened, it did no good to dwell on what could’ve been, there would be time enough for blaming himself later, right now they had a King to get to. 

He, Oswell, and Gerold stood in the great hall, awaiting the arrival of the Lord of Starfall, his brother Aurelian.

When he came, he was dressed in a purple silk doublet and his hair was cropped shorter than it was last time he’d seen him. 

Aurelian looked as if he’d aged 5 years since Arthur had last seen him, even though the last time they’d met was only a year ago. He greeted Arthur and his companions stiffly, which Arthur had expected, though it stung no less. 

“Sers,” came the stiff greeting.

“Aure—My lord,” Arthur replied, lamely.

“I am pleased to see you all hale, I trust the travel wasn’t too difficult.”

“We thank you, my lord, the roads were kind,” Gerold responded.

“Well then, Starfall is yours. Now if you’ll excuse me, there are some matters I must—“

“Aurelian,” Arthur said.

Aurelian turned around, looking at his younger brother with disappointment, something that made Arthur’s heart clench. 

What could Arthur say after all this time? Aurelian may have been his brother, but he was also a dornishman, and Arthur had aided and abetted one of the greatest shames ever inflicted upon Dorne. 

“I—Forgive me,” he breathed, not knowing what else to say.

His brother sneered, an ugly expression that looked out of place on his kind face, “It is not my forgiveness you should be asking for, brother,” he spat, “Tell me, where exactly were you when Elia and her children were butchered?”

Arthur recoiled at his brother’s words and his tone, “Aurelian, you have to understand—“

“I have to understand nothing!” he gritted out, “Pray, do you and your _brothers_ know how she and the children died?”

Arthur felt dread pooling inside his stomach, and when he turned to his brothers, he wasn’t surprised to see that they felt the same. “No—We didn’t—I—“

“Oh, really? Well then allow me to enlighten you. They say the Princess Rhaenys was hiding under her father’s bed when she was pulled out by Amory Lorch, and stabbed half a hundred times. The Prince Aegon, on the other hand, was picked up, and thrown against the walls, his head cracking open like so many eggs. Princess Elia, after witnessing her two children’s deaths, was _raped_ by Ser Gregor Clegane, before he split her in half with his greatsword.” 

For a moment it felt as if the entire world had been pulled out from beneath his feet. Arthur’s knees grew weaker and he was forced to clutch to a pillar for support, breathing heavily as if he’d just had the wind knocked out of him. His mouth opened in horror, but no words came out. _Elia, her children, Gods, I should’ve been there. Why wasn’t I there?_

Oswell and Gerold seemed to come to the same conclusion, as Oswell had paled to the point where he looked as if he would drop dead right there, and the sadness and pain writ all over Gerold’s face made him look much older than his years. 

Aurelian continued, “So, where exactly were you when this took place?”

Arthur looked down at his feet, trying to blink away the wetness in his eyes, “Guarding Lyanna Stark.”

Aurelian’s face reddened, and for one moment he looked distraught, before he said, almost to himself, “Three of the best Kingsguard for a mistress, and one green boy for a future Queen, a prince, and princess. I see how much your _friend_ valued his family.”

Arthur’s face twisted in pain, before he dropped to his knees and looked up into his brother’s eyes, a striking shade of violet so much like his own that appeared to be silently judging him.

“Aurelian, please, I didn’t wish to be there, I would’ve ridden back immediately if I could, but I had my orders—“

“ _Soldiers_ obey orders, Arthur. You are a knight, knights swear an oath to protect the innocent,”  Aurelian replied, voice softer than it was before.

Though he fought to stop them from coming, before he knew it there were tears rolling down his cheeks, shame and grief overwhelming him all at once. 

His brother was right. How could he call himself a knight after all this? Not just after Lyanna, but everything else. How many times did he stand in the throne room watching innocent men scream for mercy while his king laughed as they burned? How many times did he stand outside the queen’s rooms and listen to her cries of pain and pleas for mercy while her husband ravaged her, not lifting a finger to help her? How many times did he stand guard at the Tower while Elia and her children were left alone with the King? 

He wiped his eyes hastily, and remaining on his knees, he unbuckled his sword belt, lifting up Dawn for his brother to take.

“Take it back, I beg of you,” he whispered brokenly, “For I am not even worthy of brushing her hilt.”

At this, another emotion took hold of Aurelian’s face: pity. He got down onto the floor and pushed away Arthur’s shaking hands, embracing his younger brother while an uncomfortable Ser Oswell and a shocked Ser Gerold looked on.

“The sword is yours, brother. And though your recent actions leave much to be desired, it chose you.”

“Do you hate me? Does Ashara?” he hated how weak he sounded at that moment. He felt every bit the five-year-old boy who used to sneak into Aurelian’s rooms at night every time there was a storm.

His brother sighed wearily, “No, Arthur, I don’t hate you. I love you, as does Ashara, which is why this is so difficult.”

His brother pulled out of the embrace and got to his feet, pulling Arthur up with his hands. 

“Why are you here, Arthur?” he asked tiredly.

Arthur blinked, before replying, “We came to see if you could find us a ship. We intend to go to Dragonstone and accompany the King Viserys and the Queen Dowager.”

Aurelian’s eyes widened, before he sighed and shook his head, “You don’t know?”

Arthur exchanged wary glances with Oswell and Gerold before responding, “Know what?”

“Queen Rhaella is dead, she died in childbed. Stannis Baratheon has taken Dragonstone and claimed it for the usurper.”

Arthur felt as if all the breath had left his body before he asked, “Childbed?”

Aurelian nodded, “Aye, she gave birth to a girl, the Princess Daenerys, though she was apparently stillborn.”

“And the King? What of him?”  


“The King was spirited away by Ser Willem Darry before the usurper’s brother arrived.”

“Where?”

He shook his head, “We don’t know, there’s been no word of him since. I expect they’ve gone across the narrow sea, though Ashara may know more.”

“That reminds me, where is Ashara? I would’ve thought she’d be here to see us in,” Arthur asked.

“She’s gone to Sunspear. After she heard of what happened to Elia and the children she wanted to go, and Oberyn came here on a ship to take her.”

Arthur lowered his head at the reminder of his failure before Aurelian pulled out a scroll from a pocket in his doublet, “That reminds _me,_ she left a missive for you before she left with him. She said it was for the eyes of the Kingsguard only. I’ll leave you to read it, if you have any need of me I’ll be in my solar.”

Aurelian took his leave and Arthur turned to his fellow Kingsguard, surprise written all over their faces. 

He broke the seal of the falling star and hastily unrolled the parchment before reading aloud, 

_‘Meraxes still flies. As does Balerion, though only with his last rider, and not where you think. Do not believe the lies, the dragon has three heads. Come to the place of Meria’s defiance should you wish to know the truth.’_

_-A_

“What is she trying to say?” asked Gerold.

“Meraxes, Balerion, three heads,” Oswell scoffed, “Sounds like something Rhaegar would say.”

“My sister always did have a penchant for the mystical, but I don’t think it is related to Rhaegar’s prophecies,” Arthur replied, shifting on his feet, “The place of Meria’s defiance would be Sunspear, as that’s where Meria Martell refused Rhaenys after she flew over on Merax—“ 

Realization washed over Arthur like a bucket of cold water, and he began shaking from head to toe. At first, his sworn brothers looked at him like he’d sprouted a second head, but then, their eyes widened as they realized what his sister was truly saying.

“Rhaenys rode Meraxes,” Arthur said slowly, “ _‘Meraxes still flies—_ Princess Rhaenys is alive!”

“Hold on,” cautioned Ser Gerold, voice grim but slightly hopeful, “You heard your brother, she was killed at King’s Land—“

“You would believe the usurper’s lies?” scoffed Arthur disbelievingly, “Besides, my sister wouldn’t lie, especially not about something like this.”

Before Ser Gerold could offer up a counter-argument, Oswell spoke, “Wait, she said, ‘As does Balerion,’ _Aegon_ rode Balerion.” 

Arthur felt a surge of hope at this, until he scanned the parchment and shook his head, “She specifically said, _‘only with his last rider.’_ Balerion’s last rider was King Viserys the first, she meant Viserys.”

Oswell deflated, but then furrowed his eyebrows and asked, “Wait, then what does she mean by, ‘Do not believe the lies, the dragon has three heads?’”

Arthur tried to make the pieces click together in his head. If his sister was correct, there were still three Targaryens left. But if it wasn’t Aegon, then who would the third head be?

“The Princess Daenerys,” Gerold whispered to himself, before repeating it louder, “The Princess Daenerys!”

Arthur looked to his sworn brother, the implication of his words dawning on him. His brother had said Princess Daenerys was stillborn. Then again, he’d also said Princess Rhaenys was murdered, and now Ashara was telling him it wasn’t so. Besides, if not the Princess Daenerys, then who?

“You think her living?” asked Oswell in disbelief.

“Who else could it be, boy?” scoffed Gerold, “Or do you have any knowledge of other  Targaryens running about?”

“He’s right,” Arthur agreed, “It could be no one else. Queen Rhaella’s face was known, and Stannis Baratheon was her cousin, it would be impossible to switch her out for another. King Aerys, as well. That just leaves Daenerys and Aegon, and if Ashara is specifically implying Prince Aegon did not live, then all that leaves is Daenerys.”

“So much is true,” Gerold agreed.

“Read it again, Arthur,” Oswell requested, and Arthur obliged.

“She said ‘not where you think’ when she spoke of King Viserys and Princess Daenerys,” Gerold pointed out.

“Where do we think?” asked Oswell.

“Essos,” Arthur breathed, “But, if they’re not in Essos, then—“

“They remain in Westeros,” Gerold finished, face growing paler.

Oswell sputtered, “But, how? Why? Where?”

“She told us to come to Sunspear,” Arthur said, “That we would ‘know the truth’ there. Could it be…”

“That the King and Princess are there?” Oswell’s eyes widened, and he turned to Ser Gerold.

“Whatever it means, it is clear that if we want to know what happened to the King and the princesses, Sunspear must be our next destination, not Dragonstone,” Gerold turned to Arthur, who nodded in confirmation.

“Aye, I’ll speak with Aurelian about getting us a ship, we’ll set sail as soon as possible.”

The last three men of the kingsguard nodded solemnly, and promptly split off to rest for their journey.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soooo, we've left Driftmark for now. The next few chapters will take place in the Reach and Dorne, but we should be back with our favorite exiled prince and ambitious lord around chapter 6 or 7. Hope you all enjoy the new POV! The next chapter will be another Oberyn POV and should be out by Tuesday or thereabouts, so stay tuned!


	4. Oberyn II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oberyn meets with the Queen of Thorns to discuss an alliance.

_"Tyrion was beginning to wonder whether Lord Luthor Tyrell had ridden off that cliff intentionally."_

_-Tyrion Lannister's thoughts on Olenna Tyrell_

* * *

“So, that’s all of it, is it?”

The bored voice of Olenna Tyrell woke him out of his reverie. The past few minutes had been spent informing the woman of the continued survival of Rhaenys and Daenerys Targaryen, followed by ensuring her of both theirs and King Viserys’s safety. Though he was relatively sure the Tyrells would join them in the war against the usurper, he still left out key details, like the locations of said King and princesses, and the true identity of the newest Sand Snake, at least until they agreed to back him. He may have been sure of their loyalty, but he was no fool.

“You make it sound as if it’s not nearly as remarkable as it is,” Oberyn said wryly.

“That’s because it isn’t,” Lady Olenna bluntly replied, “They aren’t the first hidden princesses and they certainly won’t be the last. What I am interested in, however, is where you’ve managed to hide these two.”

Oberyn smiled, “Ah, ah, ah, my lady,” he teased, “If you want to cross the bridge, then you’ve got to pay the toll.”

“Yes, yes, you want me to marry off my grandson to the Princess, I heard you the first time. I may be old, but I’m not deaf, dear.”

“Tis a good match, is it not, mother?” Mace replied warily, eyes darting between Oberyn and his mother, “A princess for Willas, and we would be tied to the royal family.”

“House Baratheon is the royal family, Mace,” Olenna rebuked, “Or don’t you remember bending the knee at Storm’s End?”

Mace shrank back from his Mother’s put-down, pouting like a scolded child, much to Oberyn’s amusement.

“For now, yes,” Oberyn replied, “But the Targaryens built that throne, my lady—“

_“—And lost it—“_ she interrupted.

“—and I’m sure you would agree that the rightful king should sit on the throne,” he finished, giving her a charming smile.

Olenna looked at him as if she was indulging some naive child, which, far from making him feel insulted, amused him even further.

“Look, my prince, I’m sure you’ve come a long way to sing us pretty songs of the rightful king and justice and vengeance and all the rest, but House Tyrell almost lost everything by staying loyal to the crown. There are still those in the Reach who refer to us as ‘the stewards’, and by wedding off that dour brother of his to the even dourer Lady Celyse Florent, Robert Baratheon has made it quite clear that he has no problem replacing us as the Lords of Highgarden should we fancy ourselves Targaryen loyalists once more,” Olenna took a bite of her cheese, and motioned for a servant boy to bring her the cakes, before continuing, “So, tell me. Why should we risk everything to put a mere eight-year-old on the iron throne?”

Oberyn leaned back into his chair, “Oh, you misunderstand me, my lady. I am not speaking of rebelling against the usurper _now_. No, a restoration would not take place for years, mayhaps even a decade or two.”

She raised a graying eyebrow, “Oh?”

Oberyn took a sip of his wine before responding, “You see, my lady, if it were up to me, I would’ve marched with the full strength of Dorne at my back to King’s Landing immediately after Elia’s death, but alas, I am not the Prince of Dorne, and brother is a far more patient man than I. You see, _my_ vengeance,” he picked up a knife from the table, “Is like a poisoned knife,” he swiped at the air with the knife, causing Mace to flinch while his mother didn’t blink an eye, “Quick and deadly, though when not wise while using it, will be the death of you,” He put down the knife and picked up the flagon of wine, “ _Doran’s_ vengeance, is like a contagion,” he slowly tilted the flagon over until it began spilling onto the floor, “Slow, taking its time to spread into every little groove in your skin, every vein in your body, every hair on your head, until by the time you notice its existence—“

“—Oh gods!” Mace exclaimed, wiping off the arbor gold that had spread from Oberyn’s feet to the soles of his boots.

“—It has already killed you,” he grinned wolfishly. 

“And I’m guessing your brother will be going with the latter?” Olenna asked, unimpressed, “Or did you just waste a perfectly good jug of arbor gold for nothing?”

_Pity this one isn’t younger, she would’ve made a fine bedmate,_ Oberyn though wryly. _Although, she looks quite good for her age,_ he mused, _And she is a widow…_

He shook off the thoughts, there was no time to ponder seducing the Queen of Thorns. Not yet, at least. 

“He will be going with the latter, my lady,” He confirmed, “We will not be striking until the usurper is at his weakest and we have carried out most of our plans.”

“And these plans involve?” she waved her hand, urging him to continue.

“Oh, betrothals, military alliances, securing some outside sources of funding, you’ve got the gist.”

“Betrothals?” She asked curiously, “As in more than one?”

“Yes, my lady.”

“Do go on,” she steepled her fingers, “Which matches have you made?”

He grinned, “Viserys and my niece, Arianne.” Though the betrothal wasn’t official, it was only a matter of time before it became so, and despite his proclamations to the contrary, giving Rhaenys to the Velaryons and ensuring his granddaughter would be Queen was sure to be enough for Lucerys.

She raised her eyebrows, “Well then, you really are serious about this, aren’t you? You must be if you’re tying together the fates of House Targaryen and House Martell.”

He leaned forward, “I do not jest when it comes to vengeance, my lady.”

She leaned back and gazed at him keenly as if she was evaluating him, a slow smile spreading across her wrinkled face, “No, I see that now,” she tipped her head, “Very well, then. Though, I must ask, why not the princess Rhaenys? Her and Willas would be able to wed sooner since she is of a closer age, and she is also first in line to the iron throne should King Viserys pass on without any heirs.”

“I’m afraid my lovely niece has already been promised to another.”

Mace sputtered, “Wha—Who?”

Olenna looked over at her son with disappointment plain in her features at his oafish behavior, but looked back to Oberyn with curiosity evident in her eyes, “Yes, I too must confess myself thoroughly intrigued. After all, which match could possibly be worth more than that of a future Lord Paramount, and particularly of one of the most abundant regions in the land?”

Oberyn smirked, “Tis not a matter of wealth nor armies, as much as it is a matter of gratitude.”

“Gratitude? For what exactly?” For the first time since they’d met the woman looked incredulous.

“I’m afraid that if you want to know the identity of Rhaenys’s betrothed along with where the King and Princesses are, you will have to agree to the match before we can venture any further.”

Olenna nodded approvingly, “Very well, then. I would consent to the match.”

“Wonderful—“

“— _However,_ I’m afraid I must insist on one more.”

Oberyn raised an eyebrow, swirling around the wine in his goblet before replying, “Oh? Which match would this be, pray tell?”

She smiled thinly, “When Viserys ascends to the throne, he will wed your niece, Arianne, who is currently heir apparent to Sunspear, correct?”

“Yes,” he answered warily.

“Since she will be Queen, she obviously cannot assume her rightful position as Princess of Dorne, thus Sunspear will fall to her brother, Prince Quentyn.”

“I am aware of this, my lady.”

“Well,” she cocked her head to the side, “Wouldn’t young Quentyn be in need of a bride to further the Martell line?”

_Ah,_ he thought, _She wants Dorne._ “He would, yes,” he replied, taking a sip of his wine, “I’m guessing you have someone in mind.”

She nodded brusquely, “My granddaughter, Margaery.”

Mace almost spit out his wine, _“What?!”_

“Oh, don’t be so surprised, Mace,” she chastised her son, “Margaery will have to wed someday.”

Mace’s face grew red, “Eh-Bu-Sh-She’s barely past her first nameday, mother!”

Olenna looked at her son as if he was an unruly child, “Do you expect me to marry her to the prince tomorrow? To have them carry her off in a bedding ceremony while she’s still in her swaddling clothes?” Oberyn tried unsuccessfully to disguise a snort of laughter into his goblet before she continued, “She will wed when she comes of age, just like most highborn ladies do.”

“Rest assured, my lord. Quentyn is a sweet boy, and will make a wonderful husband for your Margaery,” Oberyn reassured the young lord, who seemed to grow redder with every passing second.

“Yes, yes, I care not for his temperament. Margaery will be able to handle him nonetheless, I’ll make sure of it,” she waved her hand dismissively, “And besides, Mace, this way, Viserys’s children will have both a Tyrell uncle and a Tyrell aunt, we would be tied to the royal family twice over. Mayhaps we can even marry one of Willas or Margaery’s daughters off to the next King, and finally, have that Tyrell Queen you’ve been babbling so much about.”

Oberyn grimaced, “That, I’m afraid, is quite impossible, my lady.”

Her green eyes narrowed, “And why is that, my prince?”

“I shall tell you after we’ve signed the match between Daenerys and Willas, if you would care to do so right now?”

She looked at him through narrowed eyes before nodding and picking up the quill and pushing it into her son’s chubby hand as if he was a toddler learning his letters, “Go on then, sign before my curiosity kills me.”

Mace nodded his head, signing his name onto the line below King Viserys’s own clumsy signature, and putting the quill back into the inkpot. 

“Very well, then, out with it,” the Queen of Thorns said, impatiently.

Oberyn looked at Lady Olenna before pointedly moving his eyes over to Mace, who was trying in vain to remove a stain of ink from his green sleeve.

Olenna sighed wearily, but nodded nonetheless, “Mace, leave us.”

Her son flushed and began to protest, “Mother—I am the lord of Highgarden—“

“-Yes, yes, but you are also a slave to that wife of yours, this information requires utmost secrecy, and we both know that you’ll be telling Alerie by the end of the night. And knowing how big that woman’s mouth is, by the next moon turn everyone in the kingdoms will know everything about Viserys Targaryen down to what soup he favors. So I say again, leave us.”

Mace’s face went an ugly red, and he looked ready to protest once more until his mother pinned him down with a sharp glare. He exhaled, and stomped out of the solar muttering on about the ‘old harridan’ and the ‘damned dornish cad’.

Oberyn turned back to the Lady Olenna, thanking her silently, and she waved it off, silently urging him to get on with it.

“My lovely niece, the Princess Rhaenys, has been betrothed to Monford Velaryon, heir to Driftmark, and future Lord of the Tides.”

To say that she was surprised would be an understatement, Oberyn mused. Olenna’s jaw dropped and her eyes looked fit to burst out their sockets.

“Velaryon?” she repeated incredulously, “Why on earth would a Velaryon be worth more than a Tyrell? The Velaryons were powerful once, I’ll grant you, but they haven’t been near as much for the past 100 years.”

“Why, my lady,” Oberyn said in a falsely scandalized voice, “Lord Lucerys was Aerys’s master of ships. And, after all, he was the one who suggested this match.”

She raised her eyebrows, “You mean to tell me that Lucerys Velaryon has arranged for this? He still remains loyal?”

“Of course,” he replied, “So loyal, in fact, that he is the one who is sheltering the Prince Viserys and the Princess Daenerys.”

She gathered herself together, clearing her throat and asking, “Are you telling me that the heir to the iron throne and a princess of the blood are staying in Driftmark, an island so close to King’s Landing that whenever the winds blow a certain way you can practically smell the shit from the alleys of Flea Bottom?! Surely, you jest!”

Oberyn snorted, “It’s called hiding in plain sight, my lady. The usurper thinks they are somewhere in Essos, being hosted by some ambitious magister, when in reality, they’re right under his nose. Quite ingenious of Lucerys, if I may say so myself.” 

She nodded, “Yes, I’ve met him. A shrewd man, and too clever by half. I’m guessing he arranged the match between the Princess Rhaenys and his son as well in exchange for sheltering the children.”

He nodded, “Yes, though not just that match. He also arranged for Rhaenys and Monford’s daughter to wed Viserys’s heir so there would be a Velaryon queen, something that he’s wanted for a very long time.”

She let out a bark of a laugh, “Ha! You do have to admire his ambition, if nothing else,” she leaned forward conspiratorially, “So, what roles are the King and Princess playing? Long-lost relatives? Fosterlings from across the narrow sea?”

He shook his head, “Daenerys is now Daenaera Velaryon, his daughter. His wife gave birth to a stillborn a few days before she arrived, though not many knew the babe did not live. Viserys is now Aurane Waters, Lord Lucerys’s bastard son, born of a Lyseni merchant’s daughter by the name of Larra.”

She blinked, incredulous, “A bastard? He reduced a prince of the blood to a bastard? Well, he’s certainly daring, I’ll give him that.”

Oberyn snorted, “If he hadn’t been reduced to a bastard, this ‘prince of the blood’ would’ve become a bloodied prince.”

Olenna nodded, conceding the point, “Yes, I suppose you’re right, however distasteful it may be, it’ll serve best to keep them safe. Though passing them off as his own, I never would’ve guessed. I should like to meet the man again, it appears I vastly underestimated him.”

Oberyn laughed, “Most people do.”

“And the princess Rhaenys?” she asked.

“I believe you congratulated me on the match I recently made with Ashara Dayne, mother of one of my bastard daughters.”

“Yes, what of it?” she furrowed her brows.

He grinned, “Rhaenys is that bastard.”

She scoffed, shaking her head in disbelief, “Gods, you and that Velaryon seem to have some sort of fixation on bastardy.”

Oberyn laughed, “Nevertheless, since I am marrying her ‘mother’, she will be recognized as legitimate, so if the usurper still rules in ten years, she and Monford will still be able to wed.”

She chuckled drily, “Like I said, too clever by half. Well, better Lucerys than Tywin, I say. The Baratheons and the Lannisters have made it quite clear that we are not welcome in their little circle, not that we’d want to get in bed with the lions or the stags anyway. Nevertheless, inform the king and his nursemaid that he can depend upon the full support of the Reach when he decides he wants to stop playing the bastard and take his throne back. House Tyrell will stand with House Targaryen as it has for the past three centuries.”

Oberyn bowed his head, “I thank you, my lady.”

She snorted, “You can thank me when you’ve won back that throne, dear,” She paused, an idea beginning to take form behind those wrinkled eyes, “Or, the King can thank me in person.”

Oberyn raised his eyebrow questioningly, “My lady?”

“Tell the King he has an open invitation to Highgarden should he want to meet those who would see him climb the steps to the iron throne. I believe my son will want to pledge his fealty in person, and I would like to get a measure of the boy, see if he’s more Aerys or Rhaegar.”

“He is neither, my lady,” he said, a bit more sharply than necessary, which earned him a raised eyebrow from the Lady Olenna. He continued in a more leveled tone, “Viserys is a sweet boy, a bit prideful, mayhaps, but nothing like his mad father or his delusional brother, rest assured.”

She took a lemon cake from a tray brought by the servant boy, “Ah yes, forgive me for the mention of the prince, I would not be too fond of him either were he to have done what he did to my daughter,” Oberyn nodded his acceptance of the apology and she continued, “Well, either way, I would like to meet him.”

“You would make the journey to Driftmark?”

She scoffed dismissively, “Gods, no! With these old knees? No, tell Lord Velaryon he can come himself, under the pretense of trade discussions or something of the sort. He could bring his 'bastard’ along, lords usually take these trips with either their youngest sons or their bastards.”

“Wouldn’t that be a tad dangerous, my lady? The spider has eyes everywhere.”

She shook her head, “Rest assured, that perfumed louse has no power here. I’m no lackwit, my prince, I know that servants are more than meets the eye, that’s why I buy the loyalties of mine. Besides, the boy lived most of his life locked in the red keep, no one in The Reach knows his face. The silver hair and purple eyes aren’t exactly common traits here, but people would think he inherited the hair from both parents and the eyes from his mother.”

Oberyn considered her words. While it would most certainly not be without risk, it wouldn’t be too dangerous. And having the lord of Highgarden actually meet the King and kneel before him would solidify the Reach’s support beyond a shadow of a doubt. 

“I would speak with the Lord Velaryon on this first,” he replied tentatively, “And mayhaps Willas could visit Driftmark in the meantime, get to know his betrothed?”

Olenna sighed, “You mean to take him as a hostage to ensure we don’t betray the King to the usurper when he arrives,” she replied knowingly, “Don’t fret, my prince, We both know that I sealed my house’s fate by having my son sign that parchment already. If you wanted to ruin us, you could, there’d be no reason to take the heir to Highgarden as a hostage. Although, if it helps you rest easy, as soon as we get confirmation of Lord Velaryon’s visit, we shall send Willas off to Driftmark to acquaint himself with his betrothed. I’m certain their conversations will be most riveting, a boy of ten-and-four and an infant girl still feeding at the wet nurse’s teats are sure to have much in common.”

He nodded, satisfied, “Very well, my lady, I shall reach out to Lord Velaryon once I get back to Dorne. I shall also begin writing up the documents necessary for Prince Quentyn and Lady Margaery’s betrothal. I would have you sign them before I return to Sunspear and have my brother sign his approval, as well.”

She stood up, “Very well, I believe this audience is at an end then, my prince. It was a pleasure.”

“Was it?” he asked wryly.

“No, not particularly, but you’re an intriguing man, and I look forward to meeting our mutual friend.”

He smirked, “A word of caution, my lady?”

She tipped her head, “Yes?”

“Lucerys can be a pain in the arse.”

She smiled widely, “We’ll get along just fine, then.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter will be a Jaime POV where we'll be seeing Rhaenys for the first time, along with some very angsty reunions happening at Sunspear, should be out by Wednesday so stay tuned!!


	5. Jaime I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaime dreams of Elia, and the last of the Kingsguard arrive at Sunspear.

_ Prince Rhaegar burned with a cold light, now white, now red, now dark. “I left my wife and children in your hands.” _

_ “I never thought he’d hurt them.” Jaime’s sword was burning less brightly now. “I was with the king . . .” _

_ “Killing the king,” said Ser Arthur. _

_ “Cutting his throat,” said Prince Lewyn. _

_ “The king you had sworn to die for,” said the White Bull. _

_ -Jaime dreams of Rhaegar and the Kingsguard _

* * *

_ “Jaime, please,” Elia begged, her voice desperate.  _

_ “Why are you doing this?” he whispered fiercely, “The usurper is days away from the city, there’s time enough for you all to prepare your things and leave!”  _

_ “He won’t let me!” Elia cried, “You know he won’t. If I had the option to leave I would have gone with Rhaella and Viserys to Dragonstone!”  _

_“I can take you from here,” he grabbed her by the shoulders, “We can run, leave in the middle of the night while the castle sleeps. You, me, Rhaenys, Aegon. We can—We can go across the narrow sea, or—or—to Dorne, where your brothers are. They’ll help Aegon take back his rightful throne, and—“_

_“Oh, Jaime,” she cupped his cheek, staring up at him with pity in her eyes, “Tis a sweet dream, but that’s all it is, a dream. You know as well as I that Aerys has barricaded the city. It’s impossible to go in or out, and if we were caught—“ her voice broke, “I will not let both of my children die for my folly.”_

_He scoffed without humor, “Ah, I see, so two is where you draw the line whereas you’re alright with one—“ his sarcastic retort was cut off by a forceful slap to the face that sent him stumbling back a few paces._

_“By what right dare you say such cruel things to me!” she spat furiously, “Do you imagine that this is easy?! You have no idea what it is to be a mother, to have to choose which child you’ll save and which one you’ll doom! The next time you say such nonsense to me I shall have your tongue out!”_

_He stared at her in disbelief, regret following soon after for his choice of words before uttering, “Forgive me. That was not worthy of me.”_

_She glared at him for a long while, brown eyes boring into his soul, before ultimately deflating, looking far more tired than any woman of six-and-twenty had a right to look._

_“I just—“ she closed her eyes tightly as if in pain, “I need to know that she will be safe. That no matter what happens, my daughter will live. Promise me, Jaime.”_

_Desperately, he attempted to appeal to her once more, “Elia—“_

_“Promise me,” she said, an air of finality to her words._

_He looked at her, eyes full of pleading, before nodding miserably, “I promise.”_

_She gave him a small smile, the tension leaving her shoulders, before looking into his eyes and pressing her lips to his._

_“I love you,” she whispered, voice small and defeated, “I love you, and I want you to know—“_

_“No,” he cut her off fiercely, “This is not farewell. We will see each other again, Elia. Of this, I am certain.”_

_She smiled sadly at him, “I know you are,” she breathed, “I know you are.”_

* * *

Jaime awoke panting in a puddle of sweat, eyes darting around the room before realizing he wasn’t on the rooftop of Maegor’s Holdfast, but in his chambers at Sunspear. 

He sighed, pressing his eyes shut and pressing the heels of his hands onto his forehead, willing the dreams to stop.

_Even when I sleep she haunts me,_ he thought miserably. During the day, he took care of her daughter, a girl who took after Elia so much it made his heart ache every time he looked at her. As if it wasn’t enough to be reminded of the woman he’d failed, the woman he’d _loved_ , every second he was here in her home, even in his sleep he had no peace. Though it wasn’t as if he deserved it. 

He’d been so sure they would see each other again, so sure that his father wouldn’t be so callous and uncaring as to let the damned _Mountain_ loose on Maegor’s Holdfast, so sure that the thick walls would protect her, and he was wrong. So wrong. Those same walls were what fell the little prince, and his father had been the man behind her murder. Though, mayhaps he wasn’t completely wrong. They did see each other again, it just wasn’t at all how he thought it would be. In lieu of a warm featherbed and a roaring hearth, there was a bloodied cloak and a cold throne. In lieu of the warmth he imagined he’d see in her brown eyes, there was nothing. No emotion, no love, no hate, no accusation. Just brown orbs staring at the throne room ceiling, unseeing. 

It had taken everything he had in him not to run Robert Baratheon or father through with his sword when their bodies were presented to everyone as if they were some grotesque mummery rather than savaged innocents. Of course, Rhaenys hadn’t been among them, as the spider had switched her out with a crofter’s daughter, but that didn’t mean the poor girl deserved such a gruesome fate either.

Afterward, when he’d been given leave, he’d gone to his quarters in the White Sword Tower, slowly shedding his blood-soaked armor, when he’d heard a noise from under the bed and saw something that burned a hole in his chest. 

_Dark purple eyes staring up at him expectantly, before walking over to where he stood, small steps echoing across the room, and saying one word that made him completely fall apart._

_“Mama?” she’d said, lip slightly trembling._

_His face twisted in pain before he shook his head, “I’m sorry, princess,” he’d croaked, “I’m so sorry.”_

_She’d nodded sadly, as if she’d expected it, before he wrapped her up in his arms and they both stayed there on the cold stone floor, weeping for only the gods know how long._

He wished he could dream of those precious few moments they’d had together, those nights after Rhaegar had left for the Trident, when he’d visited her chambers and the world fell away before them. Those moments when there was no Aerys, no Rhaegar, no Lyanna Stark, no Robert Baratheon, no duties or oaths, no wars or betrayals, just her and him. Nothing else.

He wished he could dream of those moments. 

But if there are two things life has taught him, it’s that wishes are for children, and dreams are for fools.

* * *

As the sounds of children at play permeated the air, he found himself smiling for the first time in days, albeit not widely. Rhaenys had been little more than a ghost when she’d arrived at Sunspear, barely speaking to anyone but Jaime, but a few weeks under her cousin Arianne’s wing had done the girl miracles. The cousins became fast friends, and though Arianne was four years her senior, she seemed completely taken by her new confidante. 

Quentyn, on the other hand, was a mystery. The boy was just shy of four namedays, almost the same age as Rhaenys, and should’ve by all logic been a better playmate than Arianne, but he wasn’t like most children. He was a solemn little thing, preferring to spend his time by himself waddling about the gardens or nose deep in a book. Jaime couldn’t quite relate. As a child, he was a damned nightmare, a boisterous boy with a hot temper and a short attention span who preferred sparring over reading. The only thing ever able to catch his attention besides the sword was Cersei. 

Cersei. Now _Queen_ Cersei. He scoffed to himself, shaking his head. _Well, Cersei always gets what she wants, one way or another._ He wondered if she was happy, if she loved that new husband of hers, or if she still longed for her silver prince. Jaime could remember how she’d mocked him when he spoke of running away to Lys or Myr, where no one would care if they loved each other. 

_“Don’t be a fool, Jaime,” she’d said, dismissing the notion with a scoff._

_“I’m not,” he’d said, “Is it such a crime to want to be with you openly, free of any judgment?”_

_She’d turned to him, a sneer twisting her lovely face, “I will not run off the free cities like some vagrant. I am to be Rhaegar’s Queen, not some wandering trollop,” she’d smirked then, “Besides, even if it can’t be openly, there are,” she’d put her hand on his groin, “other ways to be with each other.”_

That settled the argument and had promptly put to bed both any notion of going to Lys, and Cersei. 

Loath as he was to admit it, some part of him still loved her. He suspected some part of him would _always_ love her, but it didn’t make his situation any less confusing. 

If he still loved Cersei, what in the name of the gods had he been doing with Elia? Was it just a momentary lapse in sanity, an affair powered by lust and grief? 

No, it was more. Of that, he was sure. How could it be anything less than love? He’d felt it with Cersei, but there was always something twisted and broken about it. With Elia, it may have been doomed from the moment it'd begun, but for him, there was nothing else he would've rather died for.

“Ser Jaime,” Prince Doran’s greeting interrupted his thoughts.

“Prince Doran.”

The Prince looked up to the sky, squinting at the light of the sun, “Lovely day, isn’t it? The gods have blessed us with sunshine once more, it’s been nothing but rain since you arrived.”

“Aye, it certainly is.”

The Prince frowned, “Have you broken your fast yet?”

He shook his head, “No, I’m not much for food at the moment.”

Doran sighed, “You should eat, Ser. You’ve thinned noticeably since you’ve arrived, you’re pale as death, and there are dark circles under your eyes. Some food will do you good, elsewise how will you be able to protect my niece?”

Jaime gritted his teeth, “Touched as I am at your concern, my prince, I assure you, I am quite alright. I will break my fast later, I am simply not hungry at the moment.”

Doran shook his head resignedly, “Fine then, but do try to eat something before the day is done, Ser. You are very dear to my niece, I would see you hale.”

Relenting, he nodded brusquely, the Prince leaving him shortly after to resolve some issue with a grain shipment. It wasn’t as if he was actively refusing to eat, there’d be no purpose in that. He simply didn’t feel like eating. He’d eaten since he’d gotten here, of course, elsewise he’d be a corpse by now, but never more than a few bites at supper, and only after Rhaenys’s pestering. Nevertheless, aside from being a tad disoriented, he felt fine enough, and he didn’t appreciate being treated like some cripple.

Minutes later, his brooding was interrupted by a voice he never thought he’d hear again.

_“You.”_

He turned his head around to see the furious violet eyes of Arthur Dayne boring into him with a hatred so intense he shrank back a bit. Next to him were Oswell Whent and the Lord Commander Gerold Hightower with similar looks on their faces. 

“What in the name of the gods are you doing here, Oathbreaker?”

Jaime stood, lowering his eyes to the floor in shame. He’d worshipped Arthur Dayne long before he’d ever donned the white cloak. To have his childhood hero staring at him with nothing but sheer contempt hurt far more than he cared to admit.

“Speak, Kingslayer,” the booming voice of Ser Gerold came, “Or did your sword cut through your tongue, as well as Aerys’s back.”

“I didn’t—“

“You didn’t _what, boy?_ Didn’t break your oath to your king, is that what you’re trying to say?” Ser Gerold’s voice, though still fierce and uncompromising, had an air of hopefulness to it at the prospect of Jaime killing Aerys being one of the usurper’s lies, which made it even more difficult to tell him the truth.

He looked up at his mentors, his _brothers,_ the men he’d so admired as a boy, gulped, and spoke, “No, tis the truth. I stabbed my King in the back,” he paused, “And I’m not sorry.”

To say they looked livid would be an understatement, he thought. There was a brief flash of pain on Ser Gerold’s face, until he began approaching him, unsheathed his sword, and pointed it at his throat, “You broke the oath you swore to your king, in the sight of gods and men.”

“As did you,” Jaime spat back, “Pray, where were you when I killed Aerys, and when the mountain killed Princess Elia and Prince Aegon? I don’t remember seeing you in King’s Landing, and I didn’t hear any mention of you fighting on the Trident unless my memory fails me.”

His face went a bright shade of red, before he pressed the tip of his sword into Jaime’s throat, drawing the smallest amount of blood. Before he could say anything more, he was interrupted by a high-pitched shriek.

“NO!” Rhaenys came running towards the pair of them, Ser Gerold’s mouth dropping in shock, while Arthur and Oswell’s eyes looked fit to burst out of their heads.

“Princess—“ Ser Gerold was cut off.

“Keep away from him! Don’t hurt Ser Jaime!”

All three men turned to each other, flabbergasted, before Ser Oswell collected himself and replied, “Princess, this man killed the King, your grandfather, who he was sworn to protect—“

“I don’t care!” She shouted back, “He saved me, he took me away from the bad men who hurt mother and Egg!”

The three knights looked down at the fuming princess in shock as she stood protectively between Gerold and Jaime, arms outstretched. 

“He saved you?” Arthur whispered in disbelief, “ _He’s_ the one who took you here?”

She glared at him before nodding, “He did,” she replied, “and you didn’t. Why did you leave? Why weren’t you there to protect mother and egg? Father told me that was what you were meant to do, so why didn’t you?”

All three men looked to the floor in shame, Arthur looking to be on the verge of tears before Gerold responded, “We were only following our orders, princess. Still, you are correct. We failed you, and we failed your mother and brother. I shall regret that for the rest of my days, but this man-“

“—This man is a hero! He protected me, like the knights in the songs! But you’re not like the knights in the songs, none of you are. You left us, and knights don’t leave.”

“Out of the mouths of babes,” came the voice of Prince Oberyn, leaning on a pillar with the same carefree air he always carried, though a flicker of anger present in his eyes.

“Rhaenys, sweetling,” he addressed his niece, black eyes never straying from the three knights, “Run along and go play with Arianne. Me and your _protectors,”_ he spat the word as if it was poison on his tongue, “have some things to discuss.”

Rhaenys’s eyes warily darted over to Jaime, and after a reassuring nod, promptly left the room. 

“Prince Oberyn,” Arthur had the grace to flush.

“Ah, if it isn’t the brave and chivalrous _sword of the morning_ ,” Oberyn said mockingly, “Tell me, dear Arthur, have you even used that blade of yours in the past six moons? Because judging from the fact that you weren’t on the trident, nor in King’s Landing during the sack, I would think it’s been as dry as a septa’s cunt.”

Arthur began stammering, “M-My Prince, I—I—“

“You, you,” Oberyn said, a cruel smirk on his lips, “Yes, I believe that is what I am asking about. So, answer the question that my niece asked you, if it please. Why didn’t you protect Aegon and Elia?”

Arthur tried to respond, “Oberyn, please—“

“That’s _Prince_ Oberyn to you,” he cut him off savagely, “Now I ask again, why weren’t you there to protect my sister and nephew?”

At the three knight’s stunned silences and cowed expressions, he continued, “You see, I have my suspicions…but I would like to hear the words from your mouth,” he leaned in closer to the knights, “I would like to hear you tell me where you were when Elia watched her son die, where you where when she was brutally raped with my nephew’s blood still on her attacker’s hands, and where you were when she was split in half with a greatsword, wrapped up in a Lannister cloak, and laid at the feet of the usurper as if she was some prize hog.”

It took all Jaime had to keep down the bile rising up in his mouth, as well as the tears threatening to escape from his eyes. Oberyn spoke true, these knights had failed Elia, but so had he. Aerys and his pyromancer needed to be slain, so much was true, but what had he done after that? Had he run to Maegor’s Holdfast to protect his new King and the princesses? Had he gone to round up the remaining soldiers in the keep to properly defend it from the invaders? No, he’d climbed the steps to the iron throne, sat down, waited for hours until a judgmental Ned Stark had appeared to claim the city for Robert. He’d smirked at Stark’s shocked reaction before yielding the throne. It was only when Stark told him of the horror that had befallen Elia and her son while he’d been lounging around that the smirk slid off his face. 

Now here he was, faced with three of his remaining brothers, men he’d worshipped as a boy, all of them failures. 

Ser Gerold cut in, “We were guarding the Lady Lyanna Stark. We were not there by choice, my prince. We were following orders. Had we the choice, we would’ve all stayed with the Princess Elia and her children.”

Oberyn closed his eyes in dissatisfaction and shook his head, “You all had a choice, sers. And you chose wrong. My sister is dead because of you, my nephew is dead because of you. And, it also appears you have failed twice over." Oberyn seemed to take a savage sort of delight in the confused looks on their faces before continuing, "Doran was recently visited by the usurper's Hand, Jon Arryn. He came to return Elia's bones, but he also informed Doran of the _tragic_ death of Robert's lady love, Lyanna Stark. Apparently, a fever took her."

The knights all seemed to be vaguely disappointed and slightly pained, though none seemed particularly devastated at the loss, something which puzzled Jaime. Arthur sighed wearily, shaking his head and running his hand over his face. Oswell cursed, muttering something that sounded suspiciously like _'should've had a damned maester',_ though Gerold seemed the most torn up about it, closing his eyes as if in pain and whispering _'silly girl'_ almost fondly.

"Knowing _that_ ," Oberyn continued, "As far as I’m concerned, Ser Jaime has more honor in his little finger than the three of you combined.”

Though he knew the remark was absolutely untrue, he brushed that thought aside at the scandalized expressions that took hold of his brothers' faces.

“This man killed his King, the very king he was sworn to protect!” Ser Gerold said, outraged, “He is a stain on the very honor of the white cloak!”

At that, Jaime’s temper flared, and he could no longer keep silent, “Oh yes, and how _honorable_ it is to wear that cloak, indeed. Serving a madman who burned innocents alive whenever it tickled his fancy, all so he could get a good laugh. Yes, how noble of a position to be in.”

Ser Gerold opened and closed his mouth several times, looking like a very well-bred goldfish, but Jaime continued.

“Do you know what one of my first duties was after I’d been anointed? Aerys had just finished burning some disobedient lord or other, and after he’d had his laughs over that, he paid a visit to the Queen’s chambers.”

The way their faces paled at this told him they knew just where the story was going.

“I listened as she screamed, as she told him how it hurt, as she begged him to stop, begged someone, _anyone_ to come and help her. I turned to Ser Jonothor, and asked him why we were standing there doing nothing, I told him that we were sworn to protect her as well. And I will _never_ forget what he said to me next. _‘We are,’_ he’d said, _‘But not from him.’_ It was at that point that I’d realized that the noble order of the Kingsguard I’d fantasized about since I was a child, that the Arthur Daynes and Gerold Hightowers and Barristan Selmys of the world, were nothing more than a pack of obedient dogs. There was no defending the innocent, no doling out justice, it was all a lie,” he let out a laugh dripping with such bitterness and cynicism that Oswell flinched, “I _rue_ the day I ever thought that you three were men to admire. Those cloaks you wear may be white on the outside, but underneath that fabric, lies the blood from the innocents burned, from the queen’s rapes, from the Princess’s murder. So don’t call me oathbreaker, and pretend that you’re not!” 

The shocked faces of the three men he once called his heroes gave him a sick sense of triumph. None of them seemed able to find the right words to say. _Well, there’s a first time for everything._

Oswell was the first to collect himself, “Regardless of King Aerys’s faults,” Jaime and Oberyn snorted, “You were still sworn to protect him. You stabbed him in the back when he was already surrounded by enemies and betrayed his former allies.”

“And why do you think that was, Oswell? Why do you think I stabbed Aerys in the back?”

Oswell blinked, “It-It doesn’t matter why!”

“No? Even if it meant sparing the lives of thousands of innocents?”

The three knights stared at him bemusedly, “What?” they chorused.

“I’m assuming you all remember the King’s favored method of execution?”

Arthur eyed him queerly, “Yes, of course. Wildfire.”

Jaime laughed, a crazed sound that had him appearing as mad as the King he’d betrayed, “Yes, that’s it. Gods, how he loved it. Well, I’m assuming none of you know just how busy the Alchemist’s Guild was in the last days of the war? No, I thought not. Well then, allow me to enlighten you, the King had ordered them to put caches of wildfire all over the city. Beneath the hovels of Flea Bottom, taverns, stables, the Great Sept of Baelor, even beneath the red keep itself. When the day of reckoning came, I heard him tell Rossart, _The traitors want my city, but I’ll give them naught but ashes. Let Robert be the king over charred bones and cooked meat._ It had fallen to me to hold the red keep, but when my father arrived at the gates of the city, I knew we were lost. I sent a man to the King asking his leave for terms, he came back with a royal command, _Bring me your father’s head if you are no traitor._ When I was walking back to the throne room, I overheard him speaking to Rossart. _Burn them all,_ he said. _Burn them in their homes, burn them in their beds.”_

“I waited until Rossart took his leave to slay him, I found he was quite easy to kill. Then, I came back into the throne room. The King was pacing madly around the steps to the throne, muttering to himself about something or other. He turned to me, looked at the blood on my sword, pointed and asked, ‘ _Who’s blood?! Who’s?!_ So I told him the truth, _Rossart’s._ I think when I told him that, it was the first time I’d ever seen him look afraid. He made to run, but I was quicker and drove my sword into his back. _'Burn them all',_ he kept repeating, _'Burn them all'_. Do you want to know something rather curious? I don’t think he meant to die, you see, I think he meant to rise from the ashes, reborn as a dragon to turn his enemies to ash,” he leaned forward, tilting his chin up defiantly, “I slit his throat to make sure that didn’t happen.” 

Arthur’s jaw was on the floor, sweat glistening on his brow. Oswell looked paler than a ghost, but Gerold was worst of all. He’d taken a seat on a nearby chair and looked to be trying to avoid getting sick on the floor of the room. 

“That, is where Ned Stark found me. Gods, the look on his face. He hadn’t even said a word and I could hear it already, _Kingslayer, Oathbreaker, Man with shit for honor,”_ Jaime took a ragged breath, clutching onto a pillar before wheezing out, “By what right, does the wolf judge the lion?!”

“Ser Jaime,” Oberyn said, concerned.

“By what right?!”

He shivered violently, then fell to the floor, and the shell-shocked faces of the Kingsguard along with the concerned frown of Prince Oberyn were the last things he saw before everything went black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, Soo whatd y'all think? Next chapter we will be heading back to Driftmark for our very first Monford POV! Won't be much scheming, just a bit of 'brotherly' bonding between Monford and his new 'bastard' brother, along with a very interesting, amusing, and kinda sad story told by Lucerys towards the end of it. Should be out by Friday at the latest.


	6. Monford I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Monford takes Viserys to see something extraordinary hidden in the caves of Driftmark, and Lucerys regales his 'sons' with tales of love and tourneys.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thumbs up to anyone who knows where I got the story at the beginning from haha

_The old knight inclined his head. “The queen your mother was always mindful of her duty.” He was handsome in his gold-and-silver armor, his white cloak streaming from his shoulders, but he sounded like a man in pain, as if every word were a stone he had to pass. “As a girl, though … she was once smitten with a young knight from the stormlands who wore her favor at a tourney and named her queen of love and beauty. A brief thing.”_

_-Barristan Selmy tells Daenerys Targaryen of Ser Bonifer Hasty_

* * *

There was an old tale his father had once told him when he was a child. It was about a sailor who’d fallen in love with a goddess of the sea, and had given up his life to serving her in exchange for spending just one day with her every ten years. However, the goddess, like the sea that she ruled over, was fickle and unpredictable, so when the time came for the sailor to claim his reward, she was nowhere to be seen. He’d been so devastated that he carved out his own heart, locking it in a chest and betraying his beloved goddess by binding her to a human body. Slowly, the bitterness and hatred he felt consumed him, and over years he turned into a monstrous being. Not dead, not alive, not even human, but something completely alien.

50 years later, they met once more. When he’d asked her why she hadn’t come to him that day, she’d simply told him ’Tis my nature, would you love me if I was anything but what I am?’ 

He’d bristled and postured, but ultimately came to realize that she was right. What would the sea be without storms? What would it be without choppy waves and harsh winds and maelstroms? So, he’d set his beloved free, and she unleashed a storm so large that half of the world became enveloped in her rage. The sailor, however, as his ship was torn asunder, embraced her with open arms. He unlocked the chest that he’d placed his heart inside of all those years ago, stabbed it, and fell into the depths with her name being the last thing to leave his lips. Under the waves, he joined his love, and they were bound together as one. 

While Monford knew the story was most likely some myth from the age of heroes, it spoke to him no less. He too loved the sea, and as he sailed around his island of Driftmark, he found he couldn’t imagine loving anything else as much as this. The spray from the waves that gently tickled his nose, the breeze that lightly tussled his silver locks, the waters that were so clear they had an almost crystalline quality to them. What more could he wish for in life?

_Mayhaps Rhaenys Targaryen will love it as much as I do,_ he thought hopefully.

He sighed, frowning in thought. Twas a good match, he knew, and a far better one than he could ever hope for. Originally, he’d thought he’d wed either one of his Celtigar cousins or Elinor Massey. His cousins were never very good to him, however, always making snide remarks about his shy demeanor or all the time he spent on the sea. Contrary to their crude beliefs, he did _not_ have any sort of attraction to fish. Elinor Massey, on the other hand, seemed far more interested in his mother than she ever did him, always biting her lips or playing with her hair when she was in her presence. Monford didn’t hold it against the girl, but how on earth was he to continue the Velaryon line with someone who seemed to prefer attempting to continue it with his mother?

Rhaenys Targaryen, however, was four. She wouldn’t be four forever, so much was true, but she would be ten-and-four when they wed. Monford was ten-and-four himself, and couldn’t imagine marrying right now, especially to someone ten years his senior. Would the girl be afraid of him? Would she hate him? Would she prefer the splendor of Sunspear to the dreariness of Driftmark?

He hoped that they would come to love each other. He knew that highborn marriages seldom resulted in that, so at most an understanding between them was all he could hope for, but he couldn’t help but covet what his lord father and lady mother had.

“Are we there yet?” came the whining voice of his new ‘brother’.

He turned back to see the little king curled up in the back of the sloop, face as green as grass and sweat above his pale brow. He’d asked him to go sailing with him today in an attempt at some sort of bonding, as his father’s charge had still seemed rather lonely at Driftmark. Laena adored him and Jacaerys had taken a liking to him, but he was still quite withdrawn. He’d gotten much worse after he was told off by a septa for trying to pick up his sister, saying that his ‘bastard hands’ weren’t fit to handle a lord’s newborn daughter, that he would ‘corrupt the girl with his lecherous ways’. Mother gave the woman a right tongue lashing and sent her packing back to the sept at Hull in tears, but the damage was done. After that, Viserys went back into his shell and didn’t spend time with anyone save his sworn shield, Ser Willem, who’d since been given the false identity of Ser Rogar Stone, a landed knight from the Vale. 

“We’re almost there,” Monford reassured him, “Cheer up, Aurane, we’re on an adventure! You’ll love what I’m about to show you, I’m certain of it.”

The boy scowled, “It’s just us here, we’re on the other side of the island,” he pointed to the castle lying in the distance as if to strengthen his point, “there’s no one around for leagues. Could you please call me by my true name?” 

Monford frowned, Father had told them to call him ‘Aurane’ at all times in order to make sure no one overheard anything they needn’t to, and to sell the image to the rest of the world. But the boy had a point, no one lived on this side of the island, and they were on the open water, it wouldn’t hurt to relent just this once.

“Very well, we’re almost there _Viserys.”_

The boy visibly brightened at being called by his true name and nodded excitedly, something which made Monford’s lips quirk up a little.

They continued sailing down the island in companionable silence, ofttimes punctuated by Viserys impatiently asking when they would get there and what they were going to see, to which Monford would shake his head and smile cryptically.

Eventually, they reached their destination. The cave looked just as foreboding as it had when he’d happened upon it while sailing six years ago, though this time he didn’t try in vain to hastily turn back, instead he positioned the sail to the entrance and let the waves and the wind carry him in.

Viserys’s eyes widened, “Here?” he croaked out, “What is there worth seeing here?”

Monford grinned, “What do you know of Vhagar, Viserys?”

He blinked, “Vhagar?”

“Aye.”

Gathering himself, Viserys dutifully recited the things he’d no doubt been taught by his Maester, “Vhagar was one of the mightiest of the Targaryen dragons. She was ridden by the warrior queen Visenya, and was the last dragon of the original three to die.”

“And when did she die?”

“During the Dance of the Dragons. She died in the Battle Above the God’s Eye, felled by Prince Daemon Targaryen’s mount, Caraxes. Her rider also perished, Prince Aemond Targaryen. He was slain by Daemon, who shoved the sword Dark Sister through his eye.”

“All true,” he conceded, “But, who else rode Vhagar?”

Viserys scrunched up his face in thought, “I—don’t know. All I was taught was Queen Visenya and Prince Aemond.”

“Well, what would you say if I told you Vhagar once lived here, at Driftmark?”

His lilac eyes widened, “Truly?”

Monford nodded, “Yes, you see before Aemond Targaryen, Vhagar was ridden by Lady Laena Velaryon. She died in childbed before the Dance, but Vhagar called this place her home for many years, and it was said that this cave was where she slept.”

Viserys looked around inside the cave no longer in fear, but in excitement. He smiled brightly, “I’m in a dragon’s den,” he whispered, almost to himself.

Monford smiled, then docked the sloop near the entrance and helped Viserys off the boat before disembarking himself. Monford took a torch he’d brought with him from the sloop and lit it, venturing deeper into the cave with his awestruck companion. 

“Well, when Vhagar lived here, it was said that she was very close with Seasmoke, the mount that belonged to Laena’s brother, Laenor. Some even suggested that they had mated.”

Viserys furrowed his brows, “ What happens when they mate?”

Monford began stuttering, and felt his face growing hotter than the torch he was holding before sheepishly replying, “I think you should leave that question to the maesters.”

Viserys shrugged as if it was of no importance to him.

Monford continued, “However, I think that those people were right when they suggested that Vhagar and Seasmoke had mated. You see, I came across this cave six years ago, and I saw something that I believe proved them to be correct in their assumptions.”

Viserys frowned, “What?”

Monford recognized this part of the cave, which meant that they were getting closer. In lieu of answering, he motioned Viserys to keep on following him until they finally reached the deepest part of Vhagar’s lair.

“These,” he raised the torch to give the cave some light.

The three eggs still looked as if they were laid yesterday. They weren’t cracked or grayed, the colors appeared just as vivid as they had six years ago. In fact, they seemed to be almost _glowing_.

Viserys’s eyes widened to a comical degree and his jaw dropped open, he began stuttering, “Are those—Are they—Truly—“

“Yes,” Monford confirmed, “Vhagar’s eggs.”

Viserys stepped closer to the eggs, an amazed look in his eyes, before reaching out to touch one. 

Monford remembered doing the same when he arrived, he was so excited that for a short while he actually believed them to be warm. However, he’d come back with some friends of his and they’d told him they were cold as ice, so he’d been promptly disabused of that notion. Most like he’d just gotten overexcited.

“They’re warm!” 

He blinked in disbelief, “What?”

“They’re warm! I swear it, touch them!”

Monford eyed the eggs warily, he’d felt the same when he was here all these years ago. But his friends had dismissed his beliefs quickly, and he’d thought them right. However, if Viserys felt it too…

He reached out to touch one, his eyes widening in pure shock when he realized they were just as warm as they were six years ago. 

“But how—Wha—How—“

“They’re alive, They must be,” Viserys breathed, paying no mind to Monford’s increasingly incoherent babbling.

“My friends—“ Monford continued, “They told me they were cold, that they’d turned to stone—“

“Grand Maester Pycelle used to tell me that only the Valyrians could ever tame dragons, that many believed them to have dragons’ blood. Mayhaps it’s the same with the eggs, you can only feel their warmth if you’re of Valyrian ancestry.”

He was about to dismiss the argument as the naivety of an eight-year-old, but the words died in his throat as he realized that Viserys’s words held some truth. Monford was Valryian on both sides. His mother was a Celtigar, and his father was a Velaryon. Both were families that had come over from Valyria before the doom, and both were families that had frequently married into House Targaryen. 

“I—suppose so. But, how could they be alive? After all this time? They must be at least 150 years old.”

“Dragons are magic,” Viserys said, as if he was explaining the alphabet to a toddler.

Monford scowled, “I know that,” he replied petulantly, “Still, it’s rather extraordinary.”

Viserys continued, “Either way, there must be _some_ way to hatch them.”

Monford, though still skeptical, nodded, “Mayhaps you’re right. We should search the library at the castle, see if there’s something useful about dragons. They lived here once, there must be at least a few books on them.”

He nodded, “Shall we tell Lord Velaryon?”

Monford shook his head, “No, at least not until we know more. We’ll start by looking through the library, then when we have something, we’ll go to father.”

Viserys looked a bit put out, but nodded his assent, “Very well.”

* * *

The trip back to the castle was thankfully not too long, as the winds had switched direction so they were able to breeze along the coast. Along the way, Viserys peppered him with questions about Dragons and Targaryens and Velaryons, which Monford had answered to the best of his ability, though he didn’t know near as much as he ought’ve. 

They reached the castle by sunset, being greeted inside by Laena, still miffed that they hadn’t taken her with them. He’d regretted it at first, though he thanked all seven gods he’d refused her now. He loved Laena, but if there was one thing his little sister wasn’t good at, it was keeping her mouth shut. 

“How was it?” she asked passive-aggressively, “For how long you were gone, you’d think you two discovered lands west of the sunset sea.”

Monford rolled his eyes, “We were only out for four hours, Laena.”

She responded with a little ‘hmph’ and lifted her chin.

“We’ll take you with us next time,” Viserys blurted out, “Promise.”

She smiled, though she was trying her best to remain stern, “Well, you’d better,” she widened her eyes as if remembering something, “Oh, Father said to come to his solar when you returned, he wishes to speak with the both of you.”

He exchanged a confused glance with Viserys, before shrugging and walking towards the direction of the solar.

They were ushered in by one of father’s guards before taking their seats. Father was bent over his desk when they arrived, reading a letter that, judging from the seal, had to be from Prince Oberyn. He seemed shocked at whatever the Prince had written, but quickly recovered and looked up from the letter, a placid smile on his face.

“So, tell me, boys, how were the waters?”

“A tad choppy when we sailed west, but when we turned back east, the winds were kind and the waters were smooth,” Monford replied. 

“Good, good,” he turned his gaze to the younger, “And you, Aurane? How was your first time out on the water?”

Viserys seemed to deflate at being addressed by his second name, but then turned sheepish as he responded, “I—er—got sick.”

Father gave him a sympathetic look, “That’s perfectly normal when you’re not used to being out on the water.”

He looked up, “Really?”

Father nodded, “Aye, Happened to my wife the first time I took her out on the water. I’d brought a picnic, but she, unfortunately, reached for the basket instead of the bucket when she became sick.”

Monford laughed, “Mother?”

“Aye, your mother. I never let her live that down,” Father chuckled, “But, the point is, Aurane, it’ll take some getting used to. But make sure you work at it, if you want to spend more time with Monford you’ll have to, the boy spends half his time out on the water.”

He nodded, “Aye, my lord. I’ll try my best.”

“Excellent. Now, if there’s nothing else—“

“Father, the letter—“ Monford cut in, “Was it about the Princess Rhaenys?”

Viserys looked up at this, concern evident in his features.

He frowned confusedly before his eyes darted over to the opened missive on the desk and he sighed, “No, it’s not about the princess. Why?”

“I just—“ Monford lowered his head, “I’ve just been having doubts. Tis nothing, lord father, forgive me.”

Father furrowed his brows, “No, no, my son. Do speak, I should like to hear what troubles you so.”

Monford bit his lip, “I have been thinking, what if she resents me? I-I mean, she’ll be ten-and-four, a-and I’ll be a strange man ten years her senior. She’ll be far from her home, no family—“ Father raised a brow, and Monford flushed, “—Well, I mean no family that she’s familiar with, except Viserys, who she won’t have seen in years. I just—want what you and mother have,” he finished lamely.

To his surprise, Father barked out a laugh, “What your mother and I have? Child, do you truly think it was love at first sight for us? Your mother and I _despised_ each other when we were wed.”

Monford’s jaw dropped open, “What?!”

“You don’t know? We’ve truly never told you?” 

He sputtered, “Duh—Uh—No!”

“Oh gods,” Father had the temerity to chuckle, “Well, where to begin? We never got along in the first place, but we were wed because our families each had something the other wanted. My mother came from a moderately powerful Lyseni banking family, and the Celtigars wanted ties to them. For my family, the Celtigars had access to certain trade routes that we wanted, so a union between us seemed to be the perfect solution. We were matched when I was eight, and she was six, and married ten years later. The years of the betrothal did _not_ endear us to each other. On our wedding night, we did our duty, of course,” Monford’s face pinched together in disgust, “But, after that, we didn’t touch each other for about a year. Hells, we barely even spoke.” 

Monford looked at his father in shock. His parents had always seemed so in love with each other that he couldn’t imagine a time where they weren’t. 

“But, father, what changed?” 

His father looked at him queerly, before giving him a fond smile, “You, Monford.”

Monford blinked, “What?”

“You," he repeated, "Your mother came to my rooms one night, telling me she was lonely and wanted a child. She must’ve been terribly depressed because before that night she hadn’t so much as spoken a word to me in four moons. I needed an heir to pacify my father, whose pestering had grown quite annoying, so I obliged. We tried again every night for a moon,” Monford retched, and his father smiled amusedly, “Until she informed me she was with child. After that, a sort of tentative truce was reached. We tried our best to be civil with each other, we’d talk about the babe and what we would name it, if it would be a boy or a girl, all those things. Slowly, a friendship began to form, and while I cannot tell you when exactly it blossomed into love, I can tell you the moment I realized it did.”

“When?”

“When she put you in my arms. She’d just finished birthing you, and she’d held this small bundle in her arms. Her face was drenched in sweat, silver hair in a braid that was half-undone, she looked a fright. But she gave me you, this queer little babe with his mother’s face and my eyes. I looked at her, and she was smiling at me. That’s when I realized it.”

Monford felt a swell of emotion in his chest for his father and longed for nothing more than to shed all measures of decorum and embrace him right there, but he instead swallowed the lump in his throat and pressed on, “But, father, why did you and mother hate each other so?”

Father laughed again, “It was quite ridiculous really. I think we would’ve gotten along fine had it not been for the initial resentment that our little predicament had bred between us.”

“What was it?” he pressed.

Father took a breath, “Your mother was infatuated with one of her Musgood cousins, so when the betrothal was announced she blamed me. I, on the other hand, was taken with the most beautiful maiden in the land. Even though I had absolutely no chance with her, I was eight, so I still believed in the stories where the noble knights got the pretty princesses in the end.”

Monford looked at his father bewilderedly, “Princess?”  


To his increasing confusion, Father turned his eyes to a bored Viserys who was twiddling with his thumbs, until he smirked and loudly proclaimed, “Princess Rhaella Targaryen.”

Both Monford and Viserys looked at father in shock, Monford not being able to form anything besides incoherent sputters and Viserys indignantly asking, “You fancied my mother?!”

Father raised an eyebrow at the fact that Viserys referred to her as his mother, before seeming to realize that no one was here to hear it and shrugging, “I did. I fancied her so much, in fact, that I attempted to ride in a tourney so I could crown her Queen of Love and Beauty.”

“When you were eight?” 

“Aye, when I was eight.”

Viserys, far from being shocked, was furious at the prospect of anyone fancying his mother, but also seemed slightly curious as well. “How did you ride in a tourney when you were eight?” he begrudgingly asked.

Father looked to bite back a chuckle at the glare Viserys gave him to accompany the question, but answered, “I rode as a mystery knight. I was tall for my age, like you, _Viserys,”_ he stressed the name, which on top of the compliment about him being tall, soothed Viserys slightly, “So I was able to find some armor that fit me well enough from some spare pieces lying around the tents. I had it all planned out in my head, you see: I would ride in the tourney, beat all the knights, crown Rhaella, win her love, and my father would announce the betrothal immediately. Her grandfather, the King would of course approve, and we would live happily ever after in Driftmark with our eight children. Alas, it didn’t go as expected.”

“You got caught?” Monford asked.

“No, on the contrary. I competed in the first three tilts.”

Monford’s eyes widened at this, “You mean to tell me you won two tilts against knights when you weren’t even old enough to be a squire?!”

Viserys seemed to share his thoughts, as he just gaped incredulously at him.

“Aye,” he said proudly, “But, I suppose if you want to know the full truth, the first knight was from House Beesbury and was well in his cups when he went to compete. I was a very good rider for my age, and jousting is really mostly riding. Meanwhile, the poor oaf could barely get on his horse, let alone ride. I split my lance on his shield and fell him quite easily, though I think even a septa would’ve been able to do so with the state he was in.” 

“The second knight was a Frey, and while not drunk, rode a mare who seemed to despise him. Apparently his horse had died before the tourney, so he had to get a replacement, but this new one was a stubborn beast. Because he couldn’t keep his horse in control, I unseated him as well, though it took me three charges to do so, and quite a few bruises on my shoulders. At this point, I thought the gods were surely on my side, that Rhaella Targaryen would soon be Rhaella Velaryon, but alas, my luck ran out during the third tilt. This new knight was no drunkard, nor did his horse hate him. When we charged, he aimed his lance well and caught me right in the shoulder where the Frey had hit me earlier, breaking my wooden shield in half and sending me practically flying off my horse. Thus, my dreams were crushed by Ser Bonifer Hasty.”

“Who’s that?” asked Viserys, now thoroughly engrossed in the story.

“Some landed knight from the stormlands,” Father replied, before taking a sip from his goblet, “Not only did he beat me in the tilt, but to add insult to _literal_ injury, he ended up winning the whole damned thing and crowned your mother Queen of Love and Beauty. However, though there was naught to be done in terms of the tourney, I would not be deterred. I walked, or more accurately, limped over to a rosebush, plucked a rose, and made my way to your mother. She was speaking with Ser Bonifer and seemed, to my annoyance, to have a care for him.”

“However," he continued, "I soldiered on, and spoke aloud, ‘I rode in this tourney for you, my princess, but alas, I have failed you. While I could not crown you officially, I should like you to know that you shall always be my Queen,’ I gave her the rose, and she smiled at me. ‘If you could be so kind as to remove your helm, ser,’ she’d said, ‘I should like to thank you for riding in my honor.’ I removed my helm, and everyone saw who the mystery knight was: An eight-year-old boy. Some people looked impressed, others were in shock, but Rhaella merely laughed. She took the rose, and put it in her hair, then, leaned down and kissed me on the cheek. She proclaimed me as her ‘knight from the songs’ and thanked me. I nearly fainted after that,” Father let out a dry chuckle.

“Alas, my efforts were in vain either way. A moon later, her betrothal to your father was announced, they married shortly after, and almost nine moons after that, your brother Rhaegar was born. But I tried, at least. And whatever the circumstances, I can always tell people I felled two knights when I was barely past eight namedays.”

Monford stared at his father as if he’d never seen him before. Father had always been a careful man, one who weighed each option before he made any sort of decision. To imagine him as an impulsive eight-year-old who rode in a tourney for a Princess’s hand was incredibly amusing.

“Wait,” Viserys piped up, “Is that why she called you ‘Ser Lucerys’?”

Father smiled and nodded, “Yes. I never became a knight as I had no use for it. There were no wars being fought when I came of age, I was heir to my house, and Velaryons are of the sea, not the land. Twas an old jest between us, child.”

Viserys’s face suddenly took on a melancholy expression, “Mother never jested much. She tried to hide it, but she always looked sad.”

Father closed his eyes as if in pain, “Aye, there wasn’t much happiness for her later in life,” he said truthfully. “When Prince Oberyn sent me the raven from Dragonstone informing me of her death, I wept for her, you know. I think it was the first time Monford ever saw me crying.”

That was true, and it had been entirely too uncomfortable for him to see his usually stoic father breaking down in tears. He’d left to give him some peace shortly after, though the image stayed with him.

“She deserved so much more than she was given. She was a good woman, Viserys, and though she didn’t live the life she wanted to, I know that you and Rhaegar were her pride and joy. She loved you fiercely, child. Looking at you now, I can see so much of her in you.”

Viserys was silent for a minute, before looking up at father with bright eyes, bottom lip trembling, “I wish she was here,” he said, voice barely above a whisper, “I want to be brave, like she was, f—for Dany. But I—I want my mother," he seemed almost ashamed at himself for this.

Father got up from his desk, walking over to Viserys’s chair and kneeling before him, “You are. You are so brave, child. I would not have survived even half of what you’ve gone through, I don’t think most boys your age could," He wiped off the tears that had fallen onto Viserys's cheeks with his thumb, "Your mother may not be with us right here, but she will always be watching over you—“

He was cut off by Viserys throwing his arms around his neck. Though father’s eyes widened in shock for a second, he soon, albeit tentatively, returned the embrace.

“Thank you,” he said in a shaky voice, “Thank you.”

Monford smiled at his father over Viserys’s shoulder, to which he responded with a small smile of his own. 

Whatever father had said about sheltering the children in exchange for a Velaryon Queen or having dominion over the lands of the Cracklaw, Monford could see now that those reasons, whilst most definitely being goals his father had, all paled in comparison to the foremost, painfully obvious one: He cared for them. 


	7. Lucerys II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lucerys meets his new liege lord, young Stannis Baratheon, and sups with his fellow bannermen, discussing plots and conspiracies.

_Tonight I am to sup with my lords bannermen, such as they are. Celtigar, Velaryon, Bar Emmon, the whole paltry lot of them. A poor crop, if truth be told, but they are what my brothers have left me._

_-Stannis Baratheon to Maester Cressen_

* * *

It was just past nightfall when Monford and Viserys retired, leaving Lucerys alone in his solar to stew over the opened letter from Sunspear. That is, until the maester came, announcing that a raven from Dragonstone had arrived. When he’d finished reading it, he’d flung his goblet across the room in a rage, sending it clattering against the stone floor.

He eyed the two missives on the desk before him. The one on the left was from Oberyn, and contained quite possibly the most absurd suggestion he’d ever read, that Viserys should come to Highgarden so the Tyrells might be introduced to their King. The worse thing was, however, that aside from the general foolhardiness of such a visit, it made an annoying amount of sense. Oberyn had assured him that the Tyrells would send their heir, Willas, to Driftmark as a hostage to ensure that they wouldn’t betray them to the usurper. 

He'd have to tell Oberyn the boy would have to go to Sunspear instead, as it would look suspicious for him to come all the way here when there was supposed to be nothing of importance to House Tyrell at Driftmark. If he went to Sunspear, he could go under the guise of ironing out the details of his sister Margaery's betrothal to Prince Quentyn.

Even so, they’d already put their signatures on the betrothal documents for Daenerys and Willas, so either way they would be completely ruined were they to betray Viserys. Still, a visit to the Reach at this stage would be pushing their luck. He would need more time to think on it. 

The missive on the right, however, was not from Oberyn or the Tyrells, but from Stannis Baratheon. It would appear that the usurper’s brother had been made Lord of Dragonstone, and thus, the head of the new House Baratheon of Dragonstone. _Robert must be most displeased with his younger brother for his failure to apprehend Viserys,_ Lucerys thought to himself. What else could it be? To have the position of Lord of the Stormlands not only taken away, but given to his youngest brother who was barely off the wet nurse’s teats was nothing less than an insult. 

Whatever the reasons for Stannis’s new position, if the words on the scroll were correct, he would be coming to Driftmark in order to receive Lucerys’s oath of fealty. Apparently, now that Dragonstone would no longer serve as the heir apparent’s seat, and would instead be inherited by Stannis’s own descendants, it would be given territories to govern. Driftmark, Sweetport, the lands of the Cracklaw and Massey’s Hook. Technically, by decree of King Viserys, those lands now legally belonged to House Velaryon, though it wasn’t as if he could launch into that debate with Stannis Baratheon. Especially because of the fact that said King was hiding under his roof. Come to think of it, Stannis’s reason for being practically disinherited would be right under his nose, and he would sail away not knowing a thing. _Poor sod,_ Lucerys chuckled to himself humorlessly.

No, he would give him his fealty, but that didn’t mean he owed this pup anything, nor would the other lords that would be forced to bend the knee to him. No, Lucerys knew these men, and none of them held much love for the Baratheons. When the time came for Viserys to press his claim, Dragonstone would need to be the first castle taken in order to eliminate the threat of Stannis Baratheon. A boy he might be, but by reputation, he was also a fearsome warrior, and if he was able to survive months of a grueling siege without even showing the slightest intentions of yielding, it meant the bastard was stubborn too. If he intended to take Dragonstone, he would need to speak to his fellow ‘vassals’ about a coup when the time was right. 

Mayhaps it was finally time to reconnect with a few old friends over supper.

* * *

Meeting the new lord of Dragonstone was rather underwhelming, Lucerys thought. The young lord held quite the resemblance to his father, Lord Steffon Baratheon, with his jet black hair and bright blue eyes, but hadn’t been blessed with his father’s comeliness. Steffon, while being born with the Baratheon coloring, had inherited the softer, more delicate facial features of the Targaryens from his mother, Princess Rhaelle. However, It was abundantly clear he had not passed these on to his second son. The young lord’s face was all sharp edges, his nose was crooked and wide, and his ears were far too large for his head. Nevertheless, there was a certain air he carried himself with that made him appear rather intriguing.

Gathering himself, he welcomed the young lord into the solar, “Good day, Lord Stannis,” his smile was so false he suspected even a blind man could see through it, “I do hope the seas were kind.”

The dour-faced young lord standing before him answered Lucerys with a stiff nod and a grumbled acknowledgment of ‘Lord Velaryon’ before getting right down to business.

“You received my letter, I’m sure,” he ground his teeth together after speaking. 

Lucerys was taken aback by the direct nature of the man standing before him. Usually, custom dictated a ‘How fares your wife, my lord,’ or a ‘Are your children well?’ Stannis Baratheon seemed to be completely oblivious to such pleasantries, something which both perplexed and amused him.

“I did, my lord,” he responded, “Forgive my manners, I recently heard of your betrothal to the Lady Celyse Florent, you have my congratulations.”

Stannis seemed to grind his teeth even harder at this, clearly irritated by the small talk, before giving a brusque nod and replying, “Thank you, my lord.”

“Will the wedding take place soon?”

The way the young lord bristled at the continued pleasantries almost made Lucerys snort, but he was able to keep a straight face, “No. Not for another two years, at least.”

Lucerys raised an eyebrow, “Oh? Is something the matter with—“

“—My lord, I did not come here to speak with you on my wedding arrangements, I came for your fealty. So, if you please, may we get to more pressing matters?”

Lucerys nodded in feigned deference, “Of course, my lord. Let us sit.”

He waved his hand towards the seat in front of his desk, motioning for Stannis to take it, which the young lord did after a brief moment of hesitation. 

“Aerys is dead,” Stannis said gruffly.

“Aye, I’m aware,” he replied, “As are his wife, son, good-daughter, and grandchildren.”

Stannis’s eyes darted to the floor for a moment in an emotion that could be considered shame, but he blinked and turned his gaze back on Lucerys once more, “Aye. Twas brutal and unnecessary, but nevertheless, it is done.”

Lucerys’s eyes widened at this. For the king’s brother to be so bold to condemn the killing of the royal family to a man who’d once served the said family as master of ships was most unusual. For the first time, he found himself not quite knowing what to say, something that unsettled him greatly, so he opted for a nod of agreement. 

“You do not favor my brother,” Stannis said, matter-of-factly.

Lucerys felt himself begin to gape at the young lord’s relentless candor, but caught himself. _How in the seven hells did Steffon raise such different children?_ From what he’d remembered of Robert Baratheon, he was the opposite of his younger brother in every way: Jovial, quick to laugh, and having a fondness for wine and women. This man, however, was the complete opposite. One would think him carved of granite with how little his face moved. 

Evaluating what answer to give the young lord, he decided to go for the only thing this strange young man would respect: the truth.

“No, I do not.”

“You think him a usurper.”

He hesitated, “Yes, I do.”

To his continued shock, Stannis merely nodded in acceptance, “You’re right,” Now Lucerys knew he was gaping openly, “Nevertheless, the only Targaryen left in the world is an eight-year-old boy on the other side of the narrow sea who has no experience in ruling anything.”

_Actually, there’s two that are currently one floor above from the place you sit, and another in Dorne._

Stannis continued, _“_ I myself would’ve preferred a regency for the Prince Aegon, but Robert has taken the throne and he is King, so it does us no use to dwell on what could’ve been.”

Lucerys took a few seconds before collecting himself, “Forgive me, my lord, but is there any word on the Prince Viserys’s location?”

Stannis eyed him warily, before seeming to relent, and replied, “According to the spider, he is being hosted by the Archon of Tyrosh.” 

Lucerys had to suppress the smile he knew was forming on his face. _So the mummery worked,_ he thought triumphantly. He’d gotten the idea to make the spider believe Viserys was somewhere across the narrow sea so that Robert wouldn’t get suspicious and think to look here. Thankfully, both he and Rhaella knew the Archon of Tyrosh, and the man owed him a favor. So, after discussing a few potential trade deals advantageous to Tyrosh that Viserys would put into effect once he took his rightful throne, he convinced him to pretend that Viserys was staying in his manse. To sell the mummery further, he even purchased a Lyseni pillow-boy who was of an age with Viserys to act as the exiled King in his stead. Not only did this completely throw the scent off for the usurper’s dogs, but the slave boy was freed and got to live the opulent life of an exiled noble, at least for however long it took the usurper to send his knives and eliminate the perceived threat to his reign. So in the end, it worked out _mostly_ well for all parties involved. 

“Ah,” Lucerys replied in false surprise, “At least the boy is safe, then.”

“If he decides to stay across the narrow sea, then yes, he will be. Both Jon Arryn and myself told Robert any further bloodshed is unnecessary, I’m sure you agree.” 

_Well, the slave boy will most certainly be thrilled._

He bit his tongue and smiled placidly, “Of course, my lord. Peace would benefit us all,” _But there will never be peace, not while a false King whose rule was cemented by dead children rules._

Stannis nodded, “Good. Then I suppose all that’s left is for you to swear fealty.”

Lucerys bit back a scowl, “Of course, my lord.” 

It took every ounce of strength he had to stand up, and bend the knee to a boy who was old enough to be his son, but he swallowed his pride and reminded himself of the bigger picture. _Viserys will rule, my granddaughter will be Queen, and the Velaryon name will be one that commands respect once more._

He cleared his throat, “I, Lucerys of House Velaryon, Lord of Driftmark and Lord of the Tides, pledge my fealty to Stannis of House Baratheon, Lord of Dragonstone. I swear this, by the old gods and the new. 

Stannis motioned for him to rise.

_Oaths sworn to oathbreakers are worthless,_ he reassured himself before rising. 

“I know you bear no love for me or mine, though frankly, I don’t care. I do not need your love, only your loyalty. I thank you for your pledge, my lord. Serve me well, and I shall be a fair liege.”

Lucerys nodded, though he couldn’t resist provoking the boy a bit further before he left, “You really are nothing like your father,” he said amusedly.

For the first time since he’d walked into the solar, Stannis blinked in surprise, “What?”

“I said that you’re nothing like your father,” Lucerys repeated, “Steffon was always a charmer, never one for candor. The man was the biggest snake I’d ever met,” He enjoyed how the young lord seemed to grind his teeth to dust at this, “But you, there’s no pretense with you. I am thoroughly shocked by you, my lord, something that does not happen easily. Regardless of whatever feelings I hold for your family, I must admit that, however begrudgingly, you have earned my respect.”

The young lord glared at him for a moment before giving another stiff nod, “Farewell, Lord Velaryon.”

“Farewell, My lord.”

As Stannis Baratheon walked out of the solar, Lucerys couldn’t help but think that the last thing he’d told the young lord was, to his surprise, not even remotely false. 

* * *

“Your guests have arrived, m’lord. They’re waiting for you in Starfish Tower.”

The voice of the serving girl broke him out of his reverie. He dismissed her, then promptly began making his way to his visitors. 

He’d invited the lords Celtigar, Bar Emmon, Massey, Staunton, Brune, and Sunglass to sup with him. These were all fellow bannermen to the new House Baratheon of Dragonstone, and combined with his own forces, commanded some 5,000 men between them. Mayhaps nowhere near as powerful as the Lannisters or the Baratheons of Storm’s End, but a decent amount nonetheless.

_And more than enough to take Dragonstone._

They would need Dragonstone when the time came. For one, it would lend more credence to Viserys’s claim for them to take it, as Dragonstone was the ancestral seat of House Targaryen, but it would also be the most strategically wise place to launch an invasion of King’s Landing.

If he could convince the lords here to launch an assault on Dragonstone with him when it became time for Viserys to press his claim, they would not only deal a severe blow to the Baratheons, they would also have a significant portion of the crownlands already under Targaryen control. 

Normally he wouldn’t trust anyone enough to reveal his true loyalties, but these lords weren’t just anyone. He was close with all of them and knew that many were outraged by the ascension of Robert Baratheon. While he personally hadn’t supported Prince Rhaegar, the rest of them did, and they were especially furious with the usurper for the murder of Rhaegar’s family. 

As the doors opened, he was greeted by his fellow bannerman. Lord Justin Massey came up and embraced him warmly, peppering him with questions about Lysandra and the children. Lord Duram Bar Emmon, meanwhile, gave him a meek nod and a murmured congratulations on the new daughter. Lords Bennard Brune and Guncer Sunglass bowed and thanked him for his hospitality, while Lord Derryk Staunton fixed him with an inscrutable gaze and a stiff nod. 

The last Lord left to greet was Lord Ardrian Celtigar, or ‘the Red Crab’ as he was called by many for his sour and angry demeanor. Lysandra’s father was not a jovial man, nor a pleasant one, though he seemed to be in a sourer mood than usual. However, when he turned to Lucerys, the glare he fixed him with told him all he needed to know about why his good-father was in worse spirits. _He’s heard about Aurane,_ Lucerys thought. He couldn’t risk telling anyone else about Aurane’s true identity, it was bad enough that the Queen of Thorns knew, so Lysandra and he had elected to keep up the mummery with her family. While it meant Viserys’s identity was far less likely to be found out prematurely, it also meant her family would see Lucerys both acknowledging and bringing a bastard into his home as dishonoring both Lysandra and their house. 

After a few seconds of glaring at him, the Red Crab walked towards him, embraced him without any hint of warmth, and began whispering in his ear menacingly.

“The only reason why I haven’t gelded you yet is because I spoke with Lysandra. But make no mistake, boy, you bring forth one more bastard into this world, and I will _personally_ make sure you cannot bring forth another. Do I make myself clear?”

Lucerys gulped and nodded, to which Ardrian glowered, though he promptly released him from the embrace. 

He turned to the bannermen, _his bannermen,_ “My lords, I’m sure you are all wondering why I have invited you here. But first, let us eat, I am sure you’re all famished from the journey."

They all nodded enthusiastically, seating themselves at the table and tucking into the feast that Lucerys had ordered to be prepared. 

He’d had the cooks prepare nothing but the best food for this evening, serving oysters with vinegar, fried shrimp with a sauce made from YiTish mangos, a creamy soup made from freshly caught lobster, along with sea-bass soaked in a bowl of lime juice and smothered with Meereenese herbs and spices. He’d wanted them to prepare some crab cake as well, but thought better of it as he didn’t want to risk offending Lord Celtigar by serving him his house’s sigil, especially when the man was sure to be wroth with him for Aurane.

“So, Luce,” Justin Massey said around a mouthful of food, “Your bastard, what’s his story? I heard that his mother recently passed, she was from your trip to Lys right?”

Lucerys tried not to feel the heat radiating off of Lord Celtigar’s hateful glare and responded, “Aye. Larra, his mother, informed me she was with child after I returned to Driftmark. I wanted to bring the boy here, but she assured me that she was more than capable of caring for him, so I let him stay with her, though we maintained a correspondence. Two years ago, she informed me she’d contracted greyscale, and requested that I take Aurane in after she passed. She finally passed five moons ago, and a friend of hers sent Aurane on a ship here shortly after.”

Massey nodded, washing down the shrimp he’d just shoveled into his mouth with a goblet of dornish red before responding, “If you’d like, I can take him with me back to Stonedance as my page when I depart. He’ll learn to swing a sword, and when the time is right, I’ll speak with some friends of mine so he can squire with a proper knight.”

Lucerys shook his head, “As thankful as I am for the offer, Justin, I’ll have to decline. The boy’s just lost his mother, I think it best for him to be with family right now. Though, when he comes of a certain age, I wouldn’t be opposed to revisiting the idea of a squirehood. Keep those friends of yours close.”

Justin shrugged, “Aye. Just let me know when you’re ready then.”

Derryk Staunton’s bored voice broke through the conversation, “As touching as this conversation is, I don’t think you invited us here to speak on your whelp, Lucerys. So whatever plot it is you’ve cooked up in that head of yours, out with it.”

He smiled thinly, “Very well. I’ve invited you all here to discuss our new liege lord.”

At this, the table dissolved into grumbles and jeers about both Stannis and Robert Baratheon.

“That pup had the gall to come to Brownhollow like some conquering hero, asking me to bend the knee. Bend the knee to him?! A boy old enough to be my grandson?! Preposterous!” Lord Brune said indignantly.

The men at the table all nodded at this and cursed the usurper and his brother in solidarity, before Guncer Sunglass spoke up, “Not only does the usurper slaughter Rhaegar’s wife and children, take his throne and depose his entire house, but on top of that, he takes Dragonstone, the ancestral seat of House Targaryen, and gives it to his brother?! He didn’t even have the grace to let Queen Rhaella or the Prince Viserys keep it, instead he sent a fleet of warships to murder a mother and her eight-year-old son!”

More grumbles of agreement followed this, the jeers around the table growing louder.

“That pup is no lord of mine,” came the sneering voice of his good-father, “The day a Celtigar bends to a Baratheon is the day the seas turn pink!”

“My lords, my lords,” came Lucerys’s conciliatory voice, “I am just as outraged as you, believe me. However, there is some information I wish to share with you that I believe could remedy our little predicament.”

The lords all turned to him with vaguely curious looks on their faces.

“Viserys Targaryen lives.”

The table dissolved into curious mumbles and whispers, and many of the lords had shocked looks on their faces.

“He lives?” came the voice of Duram Bar Emmon, “You’re certain?”

“Aye,” he confirmed, “He is currently a guest of the Archon of Tyrosh.” _Actually, he’s currently sleeping about two floors below you._

“And just how do you know this, Lucerys?” Derryk asked, though his usually bored voice was tinged with unmistakable curiosity. 

“The Archon and I are old friends, we have been in communication with one another. Viserys was crowned on Dragonstone by his mother and seeing as he’s Aerys’s only surviving heir, he is the one true king of Westeros.”

At Lucerys’s last words, the table went silent as the grave. Many of the lords exchanged wary glances with each other as if the usurper would emerge from under the table to hang them for treason. 

“Luce,” came the cautious voice of Justin, “I hold no love for the usurper, but—we don’t have the men, nor the funds to put a boy barely past eight namedays on the iron throne. To attempt to do so now would lead our houses to ruin!”

The lords around the table seemed to agree, most nodding silently, with the exception of his good-father, who was giving him a scrutinizing gaze. 

“I am not speaking of right now, Justin. The Archon has agreed that to attempt a restoration now would be pure folly. However, when Viserys has grown older, and the usurper is at his weakest, he believes we should act.”

“And what would you have us do, Lucerys?” asked a disbelieving Guncer Sunglass, “Storm King’s Landing with 5,000 men?! We don’t have the numbers, nor the gold. I admire your loyalty, old friend, but for better or worse, Robert Baratheon is King.”

“As was Trystane Truefyre,” his good-father piped up before Lucerys could reply, “But as we all know from that affair, taking the iron throne does not make you King.”

“You’re forgetting that Trystane Truefyre had a few hundred fanatics at his disposal, Robert Baratheon has not only the Starks, Tullys, Arryns, and Lannisters, but now that the Reach and Dorne have made peace, tis only a matter of time before there’s no chance at all for a restoration!” Lord Brune argued.

Lucerys spoke up before the conversation devolved any further, “My friends, I assure you that Dorne has not made peace. Prince Doran is outraged by Elia Martell’s killing and has sworn revenge against the usurper and House Lannister. The Tyrells are not happy with the usurper’s disregard for them either and have been in communication with the Dornish. It is my understanding that they intend to ally themselves to each other so that when the time comes for Viserys to press his claim, they will take up their swords for him.”

The mood at the table changed drastically. The Lords that had looked so fearful at the prospect of rebelling against the usurper on their own now seemed positively emboldened by the news of the Reach and Dorne fighting on their side.

“If he has the Reach and Dorne when he comes here, while a mighty force they make, they would still outnumber us,” Duram cautioned.

Lucerys took a sip of wine before replying, “That may be, but numbers aren’t the only things that win wars. The Tyrells control the vast majority of the food that this country eats, and are the second wealthiest family in the realm. On top of this, while our own military numbers may be a paltry thing compared to that of the Lannisters, we are not exactly beggars either.”

Justin Massey nodded his head, “Luce speaks true. We all make a decent amount of gold from the trade that comes through the Blackwater. Combine that with the Tyrells and the Martells, we’d outspend the Lannisters easily. Especially if we can get the Iron Bank on our side.”

The Lords all nodded their heads in agreement, exchanging fervent whispers about gold and armies before the voice of Derryk interrupted them.

“That may be,” he said, speaking as if he was thoroughly invested in the conversation rather than in his usual bored demeanor, “But, If the Tyrells and the Martells are allying with Viserys, why would you need us? Our gold is not insignificant, tis true, but our soldiers wouldn’t add much to his cause, especially if he would have us take King’s Landing. Even at its weakest, those walls would not fall to 5,000 men.”

Lucerys smiled, “You misunderstand me, old friend, I would not have you take King’s Landing, but Dragonstone.”

The table devolved into disbelieving shouts and confused looks before Lord Sunglass spoke up once more. 

“Lucerys, what would taking Dragonstone achieve for Viserys? Tis a small and miserable island without any wealth. Not to mention the fact that, as much as I loathe him, we swore an oath to Stannis Baratheon.”

“Swearing an oath to an oathbreaker is like wedding a whore,” came the sneering voice of Lord Celtigar, “It means nothing.”

The lords seemed to agree to this, even Lord Sunglass conceded the point with a nod of his head.

Lucerys nodded to Lord Celtigar, who glared at him in return, “My good-father speaks true. To answer your first question, my friend, taking Dragonstone would achieve many things for Viserys. For one, it would give his claim some much-needed legitimacy, as Dragonstone is his ancestral seat. Besides, it would solve the problem of Stannis Baratheon. Boy he may be, he is also a competent military commander, and would make a valuable hostage against the stormlords.”

The table began to see the truth in Lucerys’s arguments, though some still seemed hesitant, so he drove the point home, “The King Viserys has also assured me that once seated on the throne, as a reward for our faithful service, he will write up a new trading charter for us all. We all know that, despite how wealthy we remain, there was a time when we were wealthier still. The growth of King’s Landing is one of the most significant factors to that stagnation, and King Viserys would see a remedy to that.”

Now the Lords looked positively beaming at the prospect of a new trade charter being drawn up. Many factors contributed to the decline in the wealth of their houses, but the one that stood titanic over them all was the unmitigated growth of the capitol. To be promised an end to the chokehold King’s Landing had put them in had the lords practically foaming at the mouth.

Though he already knew the answer, he felt it customary to ask anyway, “So, my Lords, what say you? Will you stand with us when the time comes? Will you stand with House Targaryen?”

They exchanged smug glances with each other, until Justin Massey lifted his goblet into the air and smirked, before proclaiming, “Fire and Blood.”

They all followed suit, lifting their goblets and repeating the words in unison, “Fire and Blood!”

For the first time in the evening, Lucerys felt a genuine smile spreading across his face. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, we finally got to meet the Mannis lmao. I hope I wrote the exchange well, I spent the past few days rereading ACOK to get his tone right. (and also because I really like ACOK lol)  
> Next chapter will be our first Viserys POV since chapter one!


	8. Viserys II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Viserys and Lord Velaryon discuss some new developments in Sunspear and Highgarden.

_"Even as a child, your brother Viserys oft seemed to be his father's son, in ways Rhaegar never did."_

_—Barristan Selmy to Daenerys Targaryen_

* * *

The sounds of his baby sister gurgling happily were enough to coax a wide smile out of Viserys. It’d been four moons since they’d come to Driftmark and Dany had grown so much. Her eyes were completely mother’s, though she had father’s silver-gold hair rather than mother’s more pearlescent color. She had curls just like Viserys’s, however. Mother had told him he had inherited those curls from her father, King Jaehaerys. That had made him very happy, to be told he looked like a former king.

Looking down at Dany in her crib, he found it difficult to believe how anyone could think she was anything other than a Targaryen. Her eyes alone should’ve roused some form of suspicion. Nevertheless, people had accepted their lord’s supposed newborn daughter with open arms. The same couldn’t be said for Viserys, however.

Everywhere he walked he was greeted with wary looks, especially when he went into Dany’s chambers. It was like they thought he would steal her away.

_She’s my sister, so it isn’t as if I’d be taking anything that wasn’t mine._

Only Lady Velaryon’s assurances got them off his back, and even then they still looked hesitant. Ever since the incident with the septa and Lady Velaryon, none of them dared to berate him for his birth, though that didn’t stop the castle’s clergy from sneering down at him every chance they got. He didn’t like it, no one had ever dared to treat him this way. Why were people so cruel? Was it because they thought he would steal his ‘brother’s’ birthright? 

_My birthright is far greater than this miserable rock,_ he huffed inwardly. 

That wasn’t fair, he liked Driftmark. It didn’t have the opulence of the red keep, but it had its own charm. Ever since he’d sailed to the cave with Monford, he’d started going out on the water so much that he stopped getting sick, and he’d learned to sail all by himself. He’d gotten so good that Lord Velaryon was even talking of getting him his own sailboat for his nameday. 

There was something so freeing about going out on the sea. He could forget about everything that troubled him, and all his worries were swept away by the winds and the tides. 

_Mayhaps that’s how Targaryens felt on their Dragons._

As that unwelcome thought snaked its way into his mind, he sighed. He and Monford had scoured the library at Driftmark and found precious little on dragons. There were a few tomes on their habits, as well as one on their anatomy, but absolutely nothing about how to hatch them. Monford had told him if they wanted to find out more, it wouldn’t be in Driftmark. He’d suggested the Citadel, to which Viserys had replied that he didn’t think Monford’s small boat was going to be enough to take them there. Monford had slapped him up the head for that, though it was playful. 

He liked Monford. Aside from the occasional ruffling of his hair and a few compliments on how big he was getting, Rhaegar had never paid him much mind. Though Viserys knew his brother didn’t mean to be cruel, it still hurt. He’d wanted to be a knight like Rhaegar, to play the harp like Rhaegar, to be as handsome as Rhaegar. But Rhaegar never noticed him, or never cared. He hoped it was the former. Nevertheless, Monford was nothing like Rhaegar in that regard. He paid attention to not only Viserys himself, but to the things he said as well. He listened to his ideas, took them into consideration, and then gave thoughtful rebuttals. He never had conversations like that with Rhaegar. Monford also seemed to enjoy spending time with him, a feeling Viserys could say he wholeheartedly reciprocated.

Laena and Jacaerys were nice as well, though he didn’t spend much time with them. They were three years younger than him after all, and seemed to spend most of their time with each other. Mayhaps it was because they were twins. Viserys remembered that Ser Jaime had a twin, and he seemed to be very close with her. 

“Aurane?” the soft voice of Lady Velaryon interrupted his thoughts.

He quickly bowed his head in deference, “Yes, Lady Velaryon?”

She gave him a soft smile, “Your lord father is expecting you in his solar, he wants a word.”

He furrowed his brows in confusion. Why would Lord Velaryon want to speak with him? He hadn’t done anything wrong… _Well,_ not for the past few days, but still. 

“Of course, my lady.”

Giving another bow of his head, he took his leave, but not before sneaking one last look into the nursery. Lady Velaryon had picked up Dany and was bouncing her in her arms, singing to her in the soft hymns of Old Valyria. He smiled sadly at the sight, _At least Dany will grow up with a mother to guide her._

He only wished he still had one too. 

* * *

“My lord?” he greeted Lord Velaryon shyly.

Lord Velaryon looked up from his papers and smiled, “Have a seat, Aurane. There are a few matters I need to discuss with you.”

Viserys nodded, quickly taking a seat.

Lord Velaryon steepled his fingers together and looked over Viserys’s shoulder before continuing, “There is news from Sunspear, your grace.”

Viserys’s eyes widened, Lord Velaryon hadn’t called him ‘your grace’ since the day he named him a bastard, and that was only when he was doing kingly things like signing charters and betrothals. Could he be doing something kingly now? Would they attack the usurper soon? Were the dornish getting ready for war? All these thoughts raced around in his head and he found himself growing excited at finally being able to be Viserys Targaryen again.

He gulped, trying to suppress the wide smile threatening to break out on his face, “What is it, my lord?”

Lord Velaryon seemed to read the thoughts in Viserys’s head and frowned, which told him that he had failed miserably at hiding the smile, “Sers Arthur Dayne, Oswell Whent, and Lord Commander Gerold Hightower of the Kingsguard arrived there just over a moon’s turn ago.” 

At this, Viserys’s eyes widened. He’d thought Ser Gerold, Ser Arthur, and Ser Oswell had died with Rhaegar at the Trident. They must have, if not then why weren’t they in the red keep with Ser Jaime, or at Dragonstone with him and mother, where they had no Kingsguard to protect them?

“I don’t understand, my lord. I thought them dead,” Viserys replied.

“Aye, as did everyone else. Alas, they live. Prince Oberyn informed me they were on duty performing a sensitive task for the late Prince Rhaegar. As soon as they were finished with the task, they rode for Sunspear intending to sail to you on Dragonstone. They have been informed of your… _situation,_ and wish to know what your orders are.”

Viserys blinked, “M-my orders?”

Lord Velaryon nodded and looked at him queerly, “Yes, your grace, your orders. They wish to know if they should sail for Driftmark so they may resume their duties guarding their king.”

He frowned deeply, cocking his head to the side in thought. On the one hand, he desperately wanted to see his father’s Kingsguard again. Arthur had always been happy to spar with him, Ser Oswell told him naughty jokes, and Ser Gerold was like a kind grandfather. 

On the other hand, he was meant to be a bastard here, born of adultery between some Lyseni merchant’s daughter and a relatively minor Lord. It would look quite suspicious for someone of his status to have some of the most legendary swordsmen in the country as sworn shields. Ser Willem was already protecting him here, and not only was he a great swordsman, but he was also unrecognizable as he never attended court and mostly only interacted with his brother, Ser Jonothor. The other knights, however, had stood next to father at tourneys and at court, being seen by lords from all over the kingdoms who could easily identify them. At Dorne, they could hide, as it was cut off from the rest of the country, but Driftmark was a mere stone’s throw away from King’s Landing. No, it was far too much of a risk. Besides, it wouldn’t hurt Rhaenys to have extra protection.

He straightened his back, trying to imitate his father when he sat the throne during one of his rare good moods, “No, inform them my orders are to continue guarding the Princess Rhaenys. I shall send for them when I have need of them, and that is not now. It is simply too great a risk to take.”

Lord Velaryon leaned back, smiling proudly as if Viserys had passed some test, and nodded his head, “Very well, your grace. I shall pass this along to them. There is, however, one more matter that must be discussed.”

He nodded his head, “Go on, my lord.”

“I have received an invitation from the Tyrells to host you at Highgarden.”

Viserys gaped, opening and closing his mouth in a futile attempt to string together a coherent sentence. The Tyrells? Highgarden? The last he’d heard of the Tyrells was when he signed the betrothal between Dany and their heir, after that Lord Velaryon had kept completely quiet. Could Willas already want to marry Daenerys? She was a babe! How could he think of—No, that wasn’t it. Not only would it be disgusting, but thoroughly useless as Dany wouldn’t be able to give him any heirs for at least fourteen years. 

Could it be—That the Tyrells were ready to strike? Did they want him at Highgarden to rally the troops and march on the usurper? Mayhaps he misread Lord Velaryon’s look, mayhaps the Dornish and the Reachers were ready to fight for—

“We would not be going to rally troops to your cause, your grace,” Lord Velaryon interrupted with a disappointed frown marring his face.

Viserys started, “How did you—“

“—You were thinking out loud, I believe,” he smiled sadly, then sighed, “Your Grace, we will not be attacking the usurper for a long while. He is simply too strong for us to have any hope of overthrowing him. We must wait for the proper moment, and that will not be for quite some time.”

He hung his head and pouted childishly, It wasn’t fair! Why couldn’t they just get it over and done with now? The Reach and Dorne had suffered losses, but so had the usurper. If they could surprise him, then they would obviously prevail—

“—We can’t possibly know that, your grace. Besides, the Lannister army, unlike that of the Reach and Dorne, remains wholly intact. It would be foolish to attempt anything now.”

He flushed, thinking out loud had always been something he was prone too. 

_Seven hells, I have to stop that._

“Not to worry, your grace, as you grow, you will.”

_Damn it!_

“But, back to the matter at hand, they wish to host you at Highgarden so they may know the king they swore themselves too.”

He lifted his chin imperiously, “I don’t see why that is necessary, a visit won’t change an oath.”

Lord Velaryon snorted, “No, your grace, but it could help to…ease some worries.”

The meaning of the words sunk in and Viserys’s shoulders slumped, “They want to know if I’m like my father.”

Lord Velaryon seemed to have an internal debate over which course of action he should take next, until he sighed wearily and replied, “Yes. But not to worry, your grace, they have already signed their names on Daenerys’s betrothal, and Willas will be coming to Sunspear to—“

“—I’m not, am I?”

Lord Velaryon blinked, “What?”

“Like my father. I’m not like him, am I?” Viserys bit his bottom lip and looked down at the floor.

He heard a sigh, and then looked up to see Lord Velaryon’s green eyes looking at him with pity, before he took a breath and responded, “No, Viserys. I knew your father both before he became…unwell, and after. I know the signs, and I won’t lie to you, while you do have some of his tendencies, like his pridefulness and some of his temper, you don’t have his indecisiveness, flights of fancy, or his twitchy disposition. You think things through, something which your father never did.”

“My father wasn’t always—the way he was?” 

He shook his head, eyes seeming to gleam with remnants of a distant memory, “No, he wasn’t. The stress of the throne and the deaths of your brothers and sisters wore away at him through the years, until there was only a husk of a man left. He was kind once, though the signs were always there. He once suggested to build a second wall north of the first one, and claim all the land in between.”

Viserys scrunched up his face in confusion, before blurting out, “That’s stupid.”

Lord Velaryon smiled and nodded, “Aye, it wasn’t the brightest idea.”

He cast down his gaze once more, Lord Velaryon had said he wasn’t like his father, but he had some ‘tendencies’. Would he grow to be more like him with time? Would the years of waiting embitter him and turn him to a monster? Would he treat Dany like father treated mother? He shuddered at the thought, before resolutely vowing to throw himself off the cliffs of Driftmark before ever raising a hand to Daenerys. 

“You are wiser than him, and much more practical,” Lord Velaryon continued, “Your father, for instance, would have instantly sent for the Kingsguard rather than leave them in Dorne to protect the princess Rhaenys. He would have come here and instantly demanded us to sail to King’s Landing and retake the throne rather than not only willingly wait, but subject himself to the trials of bastardy. He would have exploded at the septa for scolding him and revealed himself to the entire castle in a fit of anger, rather than take the scolding meekly and defer to Lady Velaryon as you did, even in his better years. You are not him, child, and with proper guidance, you never will be.”

Viserys couldn't help but feel that had he gotten the news of the Kingsguard and the septa had screamed at him when he first arrived here, he would've done both of those things. But bastardy, though it was only an act, had changed him in many ways, as did having people to talk to other than mother. 

He looked up, and though he was still wary, sighed in relief.

“So, will you accept the invitation?”

Viserys frowned in thought, “Wouldn’t it pose a great risk to go the Reach at this stage?”

He nodded, “Aye, it would, it does us no good to pretend that isn’t so. However, your face is not recognizable to anyone who wasn’t at court during your father’s reign. The only people at Highgarden who were are Lord Mace, Lady Olenna, and Lady Alerie.”

“Do they know who I am?” Viserys asked.

Lord Velaryon shook his head, “Not all of them, only Lady Olenna. Lord Mace and Lady Alerie will not be told either way. I will escort you under the pretense of working out the finer details of a trade deal, and that is all Mace and Alerie will know.”

Viserys furrowed his brow, “How do you mean?”

“I mean that the lord and lady of Highgarden will pay precious little attention to the bastard of a minor lord. They will think ‘Aurane’ is out exploring the castle whilst I speak with Lady Olenna in more detail. You will be presented to Lord and Lady Tyrell by Ser Willem, who will keep up the mummery of you being a guest of the Archon of Tyrosh.”

Viserys pursed his lips, “Why shouldn’t they know who I'm pretending to be?”

“Mace Tyrell is not a man famous for discretion, your grace. Nor is his wife, I believe they call her the ‘Hen of Highgarden’ due to how she’s always clucking about other’s business. While I do not believe they would ever reveal the truth of your identity on purpose, wine does more to loosen a man’s tongue than anything. One slip up at a feast, and our heads will be adorning the spikes atop the walls of the red keep.”

Viserys gulped, and Lord Velaryon continued.

“To put it simply, I trust them with the broad strokes of the plan, but I do not trust them with the details. A drunken rambling on how the Targaryen dynasty should still be in power can be brushed off as mere nostalgia, but a drunken rambling that includes the precise location of the heir of said dynasty, cannot.”

Viserys nodded, that seemed wise enough. 

“Very well, I would accept the invitation. When do we depart?”

“In two weeks’ time, if that would be to your liking?”

“Aye, it is.”

Lord Velaryon nodded, “Good. Now run along, Aurane, it’s a beautiful day, I’d take advantage of that and go sailing if I were you.”

The use of his fake name made him frown, he didn’t think he’d ever get used to it, but the thought of sailing perked him up again. He nodded excitedly and left the solar to run to the beach.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heyyyy yall, sorry about the delay. These past few days have been a bit crazy lol. I work as a volunteer organizer for a presidential campaign here in the US, and the past week has, uhhh, not been the best week for us lmao, (the candidate's name rhymes with Ernie Flanders *hint hint*). SO, that has been a bit demoralizing (along with the whole COVID-19 fiasco), but I ain't given up yet, and I certainly ain't given up on this story. Next chapter should be out by Sunday, and it'll be another Jaime POV, so stay tuned!  
> There are about four chapters left in this arc of the story until we reach the second arc, which will begin after a ten-year time jump (following a prologue that is set during the greyjoy rebellion), and I am very excited to share all that with you!


	9. Jaime II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Kingsguard get their new assignment, and Jaime has a revealing conversation with Oberyn.

_ “That boy had wanted to be Ser Arthur Dayne, but someplace along the way he had become the Smiling Knight instead.” _

_ -Jaime Lannister's thoughts _

* * *

“Driftmark?!” came the incredulous voice of Ser Arthur, just having been briefed on the Prince Viserys’s location.

Truth be told, Jaime was quite confused as well, though mayhaps that had to do with the fact that he’d hit his head quite hard when he’d fainted yesterday. Afterward, Rhaenys had sat by his bed, spoon-feeding him a whole meal as if he was some errant toddler, making sure that he ate the entire plate. Jaime had pouted and moaned, but the girl was as tenacious as her mother when it came down to it. Now at meals, he was watched like a hawk and not allowed to leave until he cleared his plate. It was humiliating, though he took the punishment as well as he could. 

But Driftmark? Jaime had no idea what possessed Oberyn to bring Viserys there of all places. It was less than two days by ship from King’s Landing, surely it was foolish to keep the prime threat to Robert’s rule so close? Though it wasn’t just the location that bothered him, but the man who ruled it.

Lucerys Velaryon was always a mystery to him. Unlike Aerys’s other allies, the man seemed to take no pleasure in thwarting Prince Rhaegar or in Aerys’s escapades with wildfire. He didn’t seem to mind it either, however. He remained completely inscrutable most of the time, his face never betraying a single emotion. Even when the King burned his enemies, when most of the court would gasp or become sick while Aerys laughed, Lucerys Velaryon simply stared ahead blankly, observing the spectacle as if it was nothing more than a mediocre joust. 

He had also kept confidence with the spider, something which didn’t exactly increase his credibility with Jaime. The spider may have saved Rhaenys, but he doubted the man did it for any altruistic reasons. No, Varys was plotting something, and what it was he didn’t know.

He had seen Lord Velaryon drop his mask a few times, however, mainly with the Queen. The two of them had been great friends, often talking with each other while taking tea in the gardens, or while watching Viserys and Rhaenys chase Balerion around the keep. 

Jaime had watched her smile and laugh in his presence, something which she seldom did unless in the company of Viserys or Rhaegar. Even King Aerys, as paranoid as he was about his wife’s potential infidelity, seemed to trust Lord Velaryon well enough with Queen Rhaella.

Still, any man that preferred Aerys over Rhaegar was not someone Jaime would trust with the Prince. No matter how friendly he may have been with the Queen, he did not want the prince Viserys around a man whose intentions were questionable at best. 

“Aye, Driftmark,” confirmed a bored Prince Oberyn, casually inspecting his nails for nonexistent grime. 

“Driftmark is only a day away from King’s Landing by ship! Do you intend to get him killed?” said an incredulous Ser Gerold.

Oberyn’s black eyes noticeably flashed at this, “I don’t think you have any right to lecture me on getting anyone killed, Ser.”

Gerold looked as if someone had slapped him across the face, before his eyes darted to the floor in shame, “Forgive me, that comment was unworthy.”

Oberyn nodded absentmindedly, and Ser Oswell chimed in, “I just, don’t understand? Why Driftmark? Why not go across the narrow sea, to-to Braavos or Lys or Myr? Surely they would be safer there, and more comfortable?”

“And spend their lives away from the lands they intend to rule, coming back as ‘foreign invaders’?” Oberyn quipped, “Besides, If they had gone to the free cities as exiles, the usurper would’ve found them eventually, and though he may talk of stopping the bloodshed now, who is to say he does not change his mind one day and decide to end the threats to his rule? This way, they will stay invisible for as long as they need to, and grow up westerosi.”

“And how will this mummery convince anyone? Surely an exiled prince would make some sort of noise across the Narrow Sea? If there’s nothing from there, The spider may begin to suspect that he is still here!” said Ser Arthur, running his hand over his face in exasperation. 

“He won’t. Varys is a clever man, but Lucerys knows his ways better than anyone. There are no ‘little birds’ on Driftmark, Lucerys is much too careful to allow that, and Varys would most likely think it the last place to look considering its proximity to King’s Landing. Either way, if the words in Lucerys’s most recent letter ring true, then the spider is under the impression that Viserys is currently a guest of the Archon of Tyrosh.”

Oberyn’s black eyes filled with mirth as he continued, “Which brings me to the most important point: King Viserys has sent orders for his last Kingsguard.”

The knights stiffened, including Jaime. Technically, he was a kingsguard as well, and though he intended to remain loyal to Viserys, the primary reason was because of Rhaenys. If Viserys intended to summon him to Driftmark, he would be leaving Rhaenys behind, something that he’d sooner die before doing. 

“Ser Jaime will remain here at Sunspear to guard the Princess Rhaenys.” 

The knights scowled at Jaime, who only breathed out a sigh of relief. He couldn’t care less about what his brothers thought, the important thing was that he would stay with Rhaenys.

“Sers Gerold, Oswell, and Arthur, however,” Oberyn grinned, “are to depart Sunspear within the next moon turn to guard their new king,” the knights nodded at this, looking satisfied, before Oberyn’s grin grew predatory and he continued, “In Tyrosh.”

The three knights all gaped, exchanging looks with each other that ranged from incredulous to confused, until Arthur spoke up, “Tyrosh?! You’ve just told us Viserys is at Driftmark!”

“That he is,” Oberyn nodded in mock deference, “But as I’ve told you, Viserys is playing the role of Lord Velaryon’s bastard son. Tell me, how would it look for the bastard son of a minor lord to have three of the greatest knights in the realm as his sworn shields?”

“He needs protection!” Cut in Ser Gerold, “The usurper—"

“—The usurper doesn’t know a damned thing about this, nor will he, as your going to Tyrosh will verify the myth that Lucerys has concocted to protect the King beyond dispute. Besides, he already has a sworn shield, Ser Willem Darry, currently posing as some landed knight from the vale.”

“We could pose as well!” said Ser Oswell, sounding almost petulant.

“No, you cannot. Your faces are among the most recognizable in the Kingdoms, Sers. You would be noticed soon enough, especially at a place like Driftmark. Viserys blends in with the Velaryons rather well due to the silver hair, along with the fact that he was rarely seen by anyone who didn’t live in Maegor’s Holdfast. Ser Willem, likewise, isn’t very noticeable either, as he seldom attended court and didn’t have many friends in the Capitol,” Oberyn countered, sounding quite pleased with himself.

“There is nothing to guard in Tyrosh but a myth! We would be sitting on our arses for years,” Arthur was beginning to sound desperate, something which made Jaime feel uncomfortable.

“On the contrary, Ser,” Oberyn put his hand to his chest in mock offense, he seemed to be relishing this, “You are to guard the Lyseni pillow-boy that Lucerys bought to play our rightful King.”

The Knights looked a mixture of furious and hopeless at this, knowing it was a direct order from the Kind and that they could do little to stop it.

“So, what?” asked Ser Gerold dejectedly, “Is this our punishment then? For obeying our orders, we’re sent off to Lys to guard a slave boy until we rot?”

“It will not be near that long my lords, you will return to the King’s side when he takes back the Kingdoms. And besides,” Oberyn’s mouth twisted into a sneer, “You have experience guarding a child playing at royalty, do you not?”

Oswell and Arthur looked down to the floor in shame, but Gerold merely nodded resignedly at the insult.

“Very well,” Gerold said, “If that is our King’s order, we shall obey it.”

Arthur and Oswell looked miserable but nodded their heads nonetheless.

Oberyn clapped his hands together, “Good! You will depart on a ship in two week’s time, I would have liked it to be sooner, though my wife convinced me otherwise.”

“Wife?” asked Arthur, raising his head.

“Yes,” a voice as smooth as velvet came, “Wife.”

Arthur turned around and his violet eyes widened as they met those of his sister’s, the Lady Ashara Dayne, now Princess Ashara Martell.

“Ashara,” he breathed. 

“My lady,” Gerold and Oswell bowed stiffly.

“Princess,” Oberyn cut in, “Not Lady.”

She certainly looked like a Princess now, Jaime thought. When he’d first met Ashara she’d often worn long-sleeved dresses of deep violet to match her house colors. Now, however, she was clad in a sleeveless orange silk dress, held up with golden pins in the shape of a speared sun. There was a circlet of thin gold chain atop her head, and a red shawl draped over her arms. 

Arthur seemed to register the full meaning of the situation when his jaw dropped and he began sputtering, “You married my sister?!”

“Aye,” Oberyn smirked, “To protect Rhaenys. Ashara and I are posing as her parents, and we wed so that she would be trueborn. Though, that certainly doesn’t stop us from enjoying—“ he was cut off by Ashara sending a sharp backhand to his stomach, and he hissed in pain. 

“I am glad to see you hale, Arthur,” she spoke in a soft voice. 

Arthur looked at his sister with an unsure smile, “Aurelian said the same thing to me when I arrived at Starfall,” he paused, “Though he didn’t look very happy about it.”

Ashara smiled back at her brother, one of the first genuine smiles he’d seen from her in weeks. He had heard her rant and rave over her brother’s idiocy, cursing him and vowing to give him a bloodied nose as his welcome to Sunspear, but it seemed as if all the fight had left her when she laid eyes on him. Jaime understood, for if Cersei appeared to him at that moment, even with all the cruel things she’d said, he didn’t think he could stop himself from running into her arms. Such is the nature of siblings, no matter how much they disappoint you, you love them nonetheless. 

Arthur kneeled before his sister, tears of happiness and regret shining in his eyes, before lowering his head and croaking out, “Ashara, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, you—“

“Don’t, Arthur,” she silenced him, offering her hand, which he accepted, “Aurelian wrote to me after you left Starfall. I know he spoke with you on…everything. I will not lie to you, I was furious with you. I wished to spit in your face and cursed you to the seven hells and back.”

Arthur bowed his head again, face twisting in misery as silent sobs shook his shoulders. 

Jaime looked away, fidgeting with his hands. The Sword of The Morning was one of his greatest heroes, to watch him break down at his sister’s feet like a beggar was far too unnerving.

“But, I am _tired_ of being angry, Arthur. I am tired of it all, and I know that Elia wouldn’t want me to spend the rest of my life resenting you. I do not think I will ever forgive you for this, as it is not my place to do so, but that doesn’t mean I need to make you feel worse than you already do. What purpose would that serve?”

At the mention of Elia, Jaime quickly turned his head to the other direction to make sure no one would see how his eyes began to water. The loss was still far too fresh, and the guilt was eating away at him. 

_You should’ve been there,_ he thought to himself, _she’s dead because of your stupidity. Her son is dead because of your stupidity. An innocent girl is dead because of your stupidity._

Oberyn seemed to notice Jaime’s expression, as he looked at him queerly, then his eyes widened as if he could read every thought in his head. 

“I worried so much for you,” Ashara continued, which made Oberyn break his intense gaze away from Jaime, “If something had happened, I don’t know what I would’ve done—“ 

“—I’m sorry,” he whispered brokenly, “I’m so—“

“I already told you not to apologize, Arthur,” she interjected gently, “I don’t want to scream at you or curse you, I’ve done enough of that for a lifetime. We will not be seeing each other for at least a decade after you leave, so please, allow me to be with my brother for the time we have left.” 

She put her hands on both sides of his face, forcing him to look at her, “Please,” her voice cracked, “I’ve lost too many people already, I can’t lose you.”

He nodded, and after a few seconds, the siblings embraced each other fiercely. 

Oberyn looked vaguely disappointed she wasn’t more wroth with her brother but elected to leave it alone. He looked up and motioned for Jaime to follow him out. 

Jaime obeyed, but dreaded the conversation he knew was coming.

* * *

They walked most of the way in silence, though Jaime decided to fill it with some conversation to try to cut through the tension in the air.

“When do the Kingsguard leave for Tyrosh?”

Oberyn looked at him before replying, “Two weeks time. I would’ve had it be tomorrow, but Ashara insisted on spending time with her brother,” he spat.

“And you let her?” Jaime asked.

He sighed wearily, “As disappointed and furious as I am with Arthur, Ashara deserves to spend time with her brother. She has lost far too much already, I do not blame her for wanting to do so. I wouldn’t have cared if Elia had blown up the Sept of Baelor, I would’ve still gone to the ends of the earth for her. Our feelings for our siblings can be…complicated.”

Jaime didn’t need anyone to tell _him_ that. 

“Either way, it serves as both a punishment and a duty for them. They keep their King safe while being in exile. Quite ingenious of me, if I do say so myself.”

Jaime’s brows knit together, “Of you? Weren’t these orders from King Viserys?”

Oberyn grimaced, “Technically, King Viserys ordered them to stay here and guard Rhaenys, but we already have the best swordsman in the seven kingdoms here, so I thought it unnecessary.”

Jaime sputtered, “You disobeyed a direct order?!”

Oberyn lifted one eyebrow sardonically, “Are you really one to talk?”

Jaime scowled petulantly, “Still, if the King said to—“

“—The King is eight, and over 400 leagues away, this is my home, and I shall say who stays and who goes.”

Jaime scoffed, “Be it on your head, then.”

Oberyn smirked, “I am sure the King will appreciate my ingenuity when next we meet, and even more so once he learns of _why_ I sent them away."

Jaime shrugged, before Oberyn abruptly stopped and turned left through a marble archway.

He had led them to a balcony with a panoramic view of the gardens. The pools glimmered with the light from the setting sun, and the sky was a beautiful mingling of blue, pink, and orange. The breeze from the gardens below gave the air a faint aroma of citrus, reminding him of Elia’s favorite perfume.

Jaime broke out of the spell the view had put him under when Oberyn pointedly cleared his throat. He spun around to see the Prince with his elbows on the marble railing, gazing at the horizon with a relaxed look in his eyes.

The prince was silent for a moment before stating matter-of-factly, “This was Elia’s favorite place in Sunspear.”

Jaime gave the garden another look before turning his eyes to the view of the sun glistening above the waters of the Summer Sea. Yes, this seemed like a place Elia would have liked. 

_And she will never see it again,_ he thought, _because of you._

Oberyn continued, oblivious to the flagellation Jaime was subjecting himself to internally, “As a child, she was very frail. Much too frail to play in the gardens as much as I did. She would watch me from here, smiling down as I ran through the hedges and splashed in the pools.”

He smiled sadly, “She was never jealous or petty about it, the fact that I could move around so much and she was confined to this place. She was happy because I was happy. That was the kind of woman she was. Oh, make no mistake, she was fierce when she wanted to be, but I truly do not think the gods could have fashioned a kinder being.”

Jaime’s throat became too tight for him to agree verbally so he settled for a brusque nod. 

Oberyn turned, facing him for the first time, “How long?”

All the color left Jaime’s face, “I don’t know what—“

He scoffed, though not unkindly, “Don’t lie to me, Ser. How long?”

Sighing in defeat, Jaime told him the truth, “It started after Rhaegar left for the Trident.”

To his surprise, Oberyn nodded sagely, “So a short affair then.”

He bit his lip, “Yes.”

Oberyn turned back towards the horizon, squinting at the sunset before asking, “Was it love, or lust?” The prince’s tone sounded almost hopeful.

Jaime didn’t hesitate, “Love,” he cast his eyes downward, “It was love.”

Oberyn closed his eyes, and to Jaime’s shock, he replied, “Good.”

“What?”

The Prince kept his gaze on the glimmering waters of the sea, “Elia was made to be loved. If her husband couldn’t do it, it’s good that you did. I’m glad that she felt some sliver of happiness before she—“ he closed his eyes as if in pain, “—passed on.”

“I killed her,” Jaime whispered.

Oberyn smirked, much to Jaime’s incredulity, “Really? I don’t recall your name being Gregor Clegane.”

“I should’ve been there,” Jaime continued, oblivious to Oberyn’s jesting, “Instead I killed my King—“

“—If you hadn’t killed him, not only would Elia and Aegon still be dead, Rhaenys and the entire population of King’s Landing would be as well,” Oberyn replied, turning back to face him.

“Still,” he continued, “I could’ve gone afterward. Instead, I—I sat the iron throne until Ned Stark came.”

“Why?”

“I—“ It hit Jaime at that moment that he didn’t know why he sat the throne after killing Aerys, the memory was hazy and felt more like a fever dream than anything, “—needed to take a seat,” he finished lamely.

Oberyn smirked, “A rather uncomfortable seat, don’t you think?”

Jaime was about to give a rebuttal coming before Oberyn cut him off, “You were in shock, as anyone would be in such a situation, this does not make you responsible for her death. Aerys needed to be put down for the sake of everyone in King’s Landing, and it was good that you did it.” 

Oberyn eyed him queerly before speaking again, “Tell me, ser, do you want to know why I am so furious with those three honorable fools and not with you?”

Jaime blinked, caught off guard by the question, “No.”

“Because, those _knights,_ ” Oberyn spat the title, “Would have watched on with their cocks in their hands as Aerys laid King’s Landing low just so they would keep their oaths. _You_ ,” he pointed at Jaime, “broke your oath because you knew that no matter how much you would be maligned or hated, words are meaningless when compared to people.” 

Jaime turned around, feeling a niggling feeling of guilt bloom in his chest despite Oberyn’s words. _No,_ he wanted to say, _I killed my king and abandoned my princess and my prince,_ but no words came out.

Oberyn seemed to read his thoughts and spoke once more, “It is not your fault, and no matter how many times you blame yourself, It will never be your fault. You did what you could, they did not. You stayed behind, they did not. You broke your oath when you knew that it was the right thing to do, they did not.” 

He put a hand on his shoulder, and lifted his chin with his calloused fingers, a gesture eerily similar to Elia’s own mannerisms when speaking with him, “Elia would not want you to spend the rest of your days blaming yourself, and neither do I. You saved her daughter, my niece, and for that, you should be proud. Most men would not lift a finger in your position, especially with their sisters being named queen and their crimes being completely forgiven.”

Oberyn squeezed his shoulder, “You are a good man and a true knight, Ser Jaime. And no matter how many times you deny it, it will always remain true.”

Jaime blinked away the sudden wetness in his eyes. He wanted to scoff, to brush off Oberyn’s words and proclaim that he would always be a scoundrel, an oathbreaker, a man with shit for honor. That knighthood was a joke, and that knights were nothing more than brutes who killed the right people.

But a voice inside of him, a small voice that he thought had died the first time he’d ‘guarded’ Queen Rhaella when Aerys visited, the voice of the boy who had wanted nothing more than to be just like Ser Arthur Dayne, told him to remain silent. Hadn’t that been what he wanted to be all along? A true knight? While the words didn’t wash away the feelings of guilt or shame, it eased the intensity of them as if they were a balm on his wounds. 

Jaime cleared his throat, and elected to change the subject before he embarrassed himself, “The King requested that I remain here?”

Oberyn blinked in surprise at the change in topic before replying, “Yes, he did.”

“Is he not,” Jaime gulped, “displeased with me?”

Oberyn huffed, “Viserys loves Rhaenys far more than he loved Aerys, the fact that you saved her is more than enough for him to trust you.”

Jaime nodded skeptically, “How is he?”

Oberyn went pensive, “When I left him, he was miserable, especially at the news of his new status,” he paused, smiling slightly, “However, judging from the tone of Lucerys’s letters, he is doing very well now. He doesn’t carry his sister around all day anymore, he speaks with people other than Ser Willem, and he seems to be much happier.”

Jaime felt a small smile on his face remembering the boisterous boy who was always hanging onto Queen Rhaella’s skirts. If anyone deserved happiness after all of this it was Viserys and Rhaenys. Though the smile died when he realized who he was under the care of.

“What do you think of him?”

Oberyn furrowed his brow, “Who?”

“Lucerys Velaryon.”

Oberyn let out a slight laugh before replying, “Ambitious, calculating, ruthless,” he paused, tapping his fingers on the marble railing, “However, beneath all of that, he is, well, maybe not a _good_ or _honorable_ man, but a decent one. I know that he cares greatly for Viserys and his sister, and will protect them to the best of his ability.”

Jaime was relieved at this, but couldn’t help but wonder why exactly Lord Velaryon was putting himself at so much risk. If he really was as calculating and ambitious as Oberyn said, he had to have been given _something_ for this perilous task.

“Why is he doing this?” he asked, “It can’t simply be because he cares for them.”

Oberyn’s eyes darted to the wall all of a sudden, and his fingers tensed on the railing before he carefully replied, “He hopes to betroth Viserys to his daughter, Laena…”

Jaime tipped his head, twas a fair exchange for all this risk, and the Velaryons and Targaryens did have a history of marrying each other, though Oberyn wasn’t done.

“…And I betrothed Rhaenys to his son, Monford.”

Jaime’s eyes widened to an unfathomable degree, though his surprise was quickly superseded by anger. What in the seven hells was Oberyn thinking?

“You what?!” Jaime gritted out.

“Ser Jaime—“

“—She is barely five namedays old and you sold her off like some broodmare?”

Oberyn’s eyes widened in warning, “Careful, Ser, you speak far too boldly.”

Jaime took a second to collect himself, trying to tamp down his ire at the prince standing before him. Hadn’t he just said that Lord Velaryon giving his daughter to Viserys was a fair trade? But this wasn’t Laena Velaryon, it was _Rhaenys._ He didn’t care a whit about Velaryon’s whelp, but Rhaenys was all he had left at this point, aside from Tyrion and Cersei, though he couldn’t exactly go back now. 

He lowered his head and cursed in frustration, he swore to Elia that he would always remain by her side, and she would be separated from him to go live on that miserable pile of rock to be wedded to a man ten years her senior. 

Oberyn took a breath and his gaze softened, “It will not be until she is ten-and-four, and rest assured, she will still require your services.”

Jaime looked up at him, hopeful, “Truly?”

He nodded, “Truly. Of course, you will need to disguise yourself as best you can, Driftmark is not Dorne, and your face isn’t exactly unrecognizable. Though, I suspect that by the time Rhaenys weds Monford, we will be ready to launch a coup, or at least close to it, so it should only be for a short while.”

Jaime nodded, he’d do whatever it took to keep her safe, so a disguise didn’t bother him. Besides, it was nine years off, they’d have plenty of time before then.

“Very well, I will not say I am pleased with this, because I am not, but I trust you have the best intentions for your niece,” he told Oberyn.

Oberyn sighed, “Monford is a kind boy. He’ll do right by her, and if he doesn’t…Well, that’s where you come in, isn’t it, Ser Jaime?”

Jaime smiled for the first time in days, “Aye,” he said, “That’s where I come in.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, I know, suuuuuper late, very sorry you guys. Last week was not really any better than the first unfortunately, it looks as if the US is on the brink of a depression ON TOP OF A pandemic, so that's not exactly fun. But, been self-isolating for the past three days and gotten a ton of writing done, so that's good. I'm not going to promise an exact schedule for the time being, though I wouldn't be surprised if I put out another chapter by the end of the week, until then, stay tuned!


	10. Lucerys III

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lucerys dreams of Summerhall and speaks with his brother and sister.

_"A man in patched, faded greens was sitting crosslegged atop a weathered stone sepulcher, fingering the strings of a woodharp. The music was soft and sad, Merrett knew the song:_ _High in the halls of the kings who are gone, Jenny would dance with her ghosts..."_

_-Merrett Frey hearing Tom of Sevenstreams sing_

* * *

_“Lucerys?” spoke the soft voice of King Aegon._

_A young boy of nine with hair as white as the moon spun around quickly, fear evident in his sea-green eyes, “Yes, your grace?”_

_King Aegon smiled at the boy’s shaky disposition, he certainly wasn’t so fearful when he’d boldly ridden in the honor of his granddaughter Rhaella at the tourney at Storm’s End the year before. He’d been so impressed at the boy’s nerve that he’d immediately taken him on as a cupbearer, a great honor for a boy of any house._

_“What is it that you’re doing?”_

_He gulped, “Nothing, your grace, just—inspecting the wine.”_

_King Aegon raised a silver brow in amusement, “Inspecting? It appears to me that you were drinking it, were you not?”_

_The boy’s eyes darted around the room, looking for any excuse, before he cleared his throat and answered clearly, “Why, I was, your grace. I was inspecting it for poison, to make sure that you and the royal family would be safe from any attempts on your lives. Tis my duty to serve my king.”_

_King Aegon smirked, this one would make a sharp courtier one day._

_“But, of course, young Lord Velaryon. Though, next time you serve your king, I would prefer you did it while you could still speak in complete sentences.”_

_The boy had the grace to flush, “Of course, your grace.”_

_“Good, then come along, Lucerys, it is time to witness the reason I have gathered us all here.”_

_He looked up, “Is the Princess going to give birth?”_

_King Aegon let out a hearty laugh, “No, my boy, not yet, and even if she was, we wouldn’t all be gathered around to witness it.”_

_If the boy went red before, he was positively scarlet now._

_“Of course not, your grace.”_

_He motioned for Lucerys to follow him, which the boy did, dutiful as ever._

_After walking around the empty halls of the grand palace, they reached the great hall. The gilded doors opened and they were greeted by the entire family: Duncan and Jenny, his wife Betha, Aerys and a heavily pregnant Rhaella, along with Jaehaerys and Shaera._

_He clapped his hands together, eyes darting to the center of the room where the nine glowing eggs sat atop a wooden pyre._

_“Dearest family…and friends,” he motioned to Lucerys and Ser Duncan, “We are all gathered here to witness two very important births.”_

_“Two?” asked Aerys, “Last I checked, Rhaella only carried a boy, grandfather,” his grandson said cheekily._

_Duncan and Jaehaerys snickered, though Aegon’s face remained serious, “The second birth is not that of a Targaryen, dearest grandson, but of these,” he motioned to the eggs._

_“Not this again, father,” grumbled Jaehaerys._

_“Now, now, my son, you know as well as I that those eggs are warm. If they are warm, that means they are alive. If they are alive, that means they can be hatched. Wouldn’t you want your grandson to be a dragonrider?”_

_Jaehaerys was slightly mollified by this, though he still kept his scowl in place._

_“There are nine eggs,” Duncan pointed out, “But only seven Targaryens, at best. What are we to do with the other two?”_

_Aegon stroked his beard, “One does not need to be a Targaryen to be a dragonrider, only Valyrian. The Velaryons rode dragons, and we just happen to have one right here, with Targaryen blood no less.”_

_Lucerys looked up in surprise, then paled at the thought of mounting a dragon._

_“The Star of Driftmark, a dragonrider,” Aerys teased mildly, “That’ll be the day.”_

_The room chuckled at this, though the young Lord Velaryon flushed at the name he'd been given after riding in the tourney._

_“Now, now, young Lucerys may very well surprise you, dear brother,” chided a smiling Rhaella, sending a wink at the boy’s direction, to which he reddened further._

_Ah, Aegon thought amused, the boy still carries a torch for Rhaella after all._

_Young Aerys smiled kindly at his sister-wife. The match had been forced upon both of them, but these last few months had seemed to bring them closer to one another. Despite Aegon’s distaste for brother-sister unions, he hoped that this one flourished, for his grandchildren’s sake._

_“Very well, then,” he clapped his hands together, “Tonight shall mark the rebirth of an important part of our family’s heritage. Tonight shall mark the rise of House Targaryen,” he paused, motioning to the pyromancers, “Let us begin.”_

* * *

_Lucerys didn’t know when it exactly things had taken a turn for the worse, but before he knew it, the great hall was consumed by flames, and the grand beams holding up the roof began to fall. The first one had crushed King Aegon and Queen Betha, though the rest seemed to only block off parts of the hall._

_He heard the pained screams of Princess Shaera and Prince Duncan, along with the desperate moans of Lady Jenny. Before he’d known it, the smell of burning flesh permeated the air and the screams seemed to subside._

_The smoke made it harder to breathe, and he felt himself feeling fainter and fainter as the seconds passed. He was pinned by a large piece of a beam that had fallen on his shoulder, and aside from the painful pressure it exerted on him, the burning sensation on his flesh was worse, so much worse. He wanted nothing more than to be back at Driftmark, to be with mother and father and Rhaemond and Shiera._

_Then, as he was about to succumb to the smoke, whimpering and sniffling like a babe in arms, he felt the burning beam on his shoulder being lifted off, and a pair of strong arms pulling him up from the debris. After that, everything went black._

_When he awoke, he found the unconscious body of Prince Jaehaerys alongside him, and below the grassy hill they were on, the Targaryen Palace of Summerhall was being consumed by flames, the night sky filling with smoke._

_He attempted to push himself up, though a sharp burning sensation in his shoulder stopped him from doing so and he crumpled to the ground in pain._

_He put his hand on the wound, noticing that he was bleeding profusely, and attempted to stand up once more to get help. Mayhaps there was a maester around, or more survivors._

_Though his shoulder once again refused to allow him to get up._

_Then a scream pierced through the air._

_Rhaella._

_At that moment, the pain in his shoulder was nothing, and he lifted himself up with all the strength he could muster, limping as fast as he could to where he heard the scream. It was dark, and the only light he had was that of the burning palace, but he pressed on._

_At the trunk of a lemon tree, he found her, along with Aerys and Maester Gyldayn. All of them looked bruised and bloodied, ash clinging to their clothing, though they appeared to be relatively hale._

_Lucerys’s eyes bulged out of his head when he realized her stomach was flat, and in her arms lay a newborn babe._

_Rhaella and Aerys lifted their heads at the sound of the grass crunching beneath his feet, and he could see their eyes were red and dried tear tracks ran down their faces._

_“Rhaegar,” she whispered brokenly, still in shock, “His name…is Rhaegar.”_

_Lucerys nodded meekly, wiping away the tears he hadn’t realized were on his own face. He felt the blood drip down from his arm onto the grass below, and the pungent odor of salt and smoke was almost nauseating._

* * *

Lucerys woke up panting, expecting to find himself back on that grassy knoll in Summerhall, only to be safe in his bed next to a concerned Lysandra, hair mussed from sleep.

“Are you alright?” she said, softly, “You were tossing and turning and muttering, it frightened me.”

Lucerys heaved out a sigh, running a hand over his face and shaking his head, “No, I—I’m fine, it was just a nightmare, that’s all.”

She raised an eyebrow, “I think that was rather obvious,” he scowled at her sarcasm, “What was it about?”

He debated on whether or not to tell her anything, it had been a particularly odd dream, especially the beginning. _Was I King Aegon?_

He gulped, “Summerhall.”

She nodded in understanding and put a hand on his scarred shoulder, the same shoulder that had been crushed by that burning beam all those years ago, “Why that memory?”

“I—I don’t know, it’s probably just stress from the voyage.” 

It was most likely that, seeing as they would depart to Highgarden in two days’ time. They couldn’t back out now, as the Tyrell boy was already on his way to Sunspear to play the hostage. Oberyn had originally suggested Driftmark so the boy could 'know his betrothed', though that ridiculous idea had been firmly rebuffed by Lucerys.

Still, the memory in the dream plagued him. Summerhall had always been a particularly touchy subject for him. It was a horrible memory he longed to forget, yet the remnants of it seemed to cling to him like flies to dung. 

He’d had nightmares about it before, though this one had felt different. His nightmares had never felt this vivid, nor was he ever anyone else but himself. At the beginning of it, he had dreamt he was King Aegon. He was in his mind, talking in his voice, playfully teasing his nine-year-old self. How? Why?

Whatever it was, he didn’t want to know. He only wished to never dream of it again. He lived through Summerhall once, he had no wish to do so again, dream or not. 

The only bright side of the memory was his brief glimpses of Aerys and Rhaella. Aerys, handsome and jovial, before the madness had broken him; and Rhaella, beautiful and cheeky, before Aerys had broken her.

Summerhall was, ironically, the event that had brought the three of them closer together. So close, in fact, that after King Jaehaerys died, when Lucerys was barely ten-and-three namedays, Aerys called him to King’s Landing to serve as his Master of Ships. A position that, despite his young age, he’d flourished in. 

“Are you sure that’s all? Nothing to do with certain siblings arriving on the morrow?” Lysandra pressed, a faint smile blooming on her face.

Lucerys put his head in his hands, “Did you have to remind me of that, woman?”

He heard her chuckle next to him, Lysandra never failed to get entertainment from his struggles with his siblings, much to his annoyance. 

Rhaemond, his younger brother, three-and-twenty years old, and still as juvenile as he was when he was four-and-ten. The idiot refused to be wed to anyone, proclaiming that his wife ‘was the sea’ or some other horseshit like that. Whatever he had to say, tomorrow Lucerys would inform him of his betrothal to Lady Desmera Redwyne. 

The girl only had two name-days on her and they would not wed until she was ten-and-six, per her family’s insistence, though that would hopefully give Rhaemond time to come to terms with the match. Lady Olenna had seemed quite insistent on it, and he was in no mood to refuse the Queen of Thorns, especially not for his dolt of a brother. 

Shiera, his younger sister, a beautiful maid (he hoped) of four-and-twenty, whose soft beauty made her look every bit the maiden reborn. Except once she opened that mouth of hers, that was. The woman may not have been a sailor, but she certainly swore like one, and had absolutely no sense of propriety.

She was to be shipped off to Starfall before he left for Highgarden to marry Lord Aurelian Dayne, a match that Oberyn had arranged and that he hoped his sister would be happy with, though judging from the tone of her recent letter, on the morrow he would get an earful. 

Whatever she or Rhaemond had to say, Lucerys didn’t care. He was Lord of Driftmark, and no matter how they pouted or moaned, his word was final. 

These matches would solidify House Velaryon’s alliance with Dorne and the Reach, and would serve them well. 

He sunk back onto the bed, glaring openly at his snickering wife, “Oh please, don’t let my misery stop you from laughing.”

She rolled her eyes, “You truly have a penchant for drama, Lucerys, ofttimes I wonder if I’ve married a mummer.”

He snorted, “I wish, a mummer’s life would be simpler than this.”

She sighed dramatically, “But alas, this is the lot we’ve been given.”

“Yes,” he nodded drowsily, “That it is.”

As Lucerys drifted back into sleep, he tried to ignore the taste of ashes in his mouth.

* * *

After two years without seeing Shiera, and three without seeing Rhaemond, here they were, sitting in front of the desk in his solar. Shiera had been living in Lys at the manse of their mother’s family, fancying herself a foreign princess; while Rhaemond was traveling the world, fancying himself Corlys Velaryon reborn. 

Idiots.

However idiotic they were, though, they were his, and truth be told he had missed them. 

Shiera was ever the picture of their mother, inheriting her silver-gold hair along with her amethyst eyes.  Rhaemond had inherited mother’s eyes as well, though he had the more pearlescent shade of silver hair that the Velaryons did.

He greeted them with a bright smile, “Rhaemond, Shiera, how lovely it is to see you both, it has been far too long.”

The introduction was met with a furious scowl from Shiera and a vaguely amused look from Rhaemond. 

Shiera took a breath before speaking with a furious calm, “So, now that you can no longer spend your days licking the mad king’s arse,” Rhaemond snorted at her impertinent comment, “you see fit to sell me like some prized horse?” 

Two years they hadn’t seen each other. Two years, and _this_ is how she greets him? 

“Careful, dear sister. Your sharp tongue does you no favors,” came Lucerys’s gritted reply. 

She scoffed, “I will say what I—“

“—You will say nothing, because that is exactly how much I care about whatever petulant nonsense comes out of your mouth, woman. This match is an honor, and far better than _you_ could’ve ever hoped for.”

She stood up from her chair, “Excuse me?” 

He lifted an eyebrow, calm as a quiet sea, “You heard me. Had you listened to me and wed eight years ago like most ladies, you would’ve had your pick of the lot. Instead, for the past five years I’ve had to fend off offers from the likes of Walder Frey,” he took pleasure in how her face twisted in disgust at his name. 

“So tell me, little sister, would you prefer me to write to _dearest_ Walder,” he spoke the epithet in a voice dripping with scorn, “and tell him of how he has won your heart? Or will you stop behaving like the girl you were, and start comporting yourself like the woman you’ve become?”

She glared at him with a burning hatred, though Lucerys simply didn’t care. Shiera was always temperamental as a child, and while her wrath amused him once, as the years wore on he had grown tired of her insolence. She would do as she was told, and she would get over her resentment of him. 

“Very well,” she spoke as if every word was being forced out of her mouth, “I will do as you say, _my Lord_.”

“You should be far more grateful, Shiera,” he chided her, shaking his head, “House Dayne is the richest house in Dorne, and women there have far more freedom than they do here. Lord Dayne is of an age with you, and I also hear he is very comely.”

“Oh, joy,” she spat, “A pretty husband and a fat purse, that is, after all, all there is to life.”

Lucerys sighed, “I know you have said you do not want to get married, but this is how life is, Shiera. We must all do our duty, and yours is far easier than most. Why are you behaving like such a child?”

“Because I don’t want this.”

“Nor did I want to marry Lysandra,” he said, “And look at how well that’s turned out.”

She snorted, “Yes, so well that you fathered a bastard six years into your marriage with her. Sweet boy, by the way, and handsome too, must take after his mother,” she sneered.

He stiffened, allowing the insult to pass, before replying in a voice that could freeze fire, “Despite my indiscretions, I have found happiness with my wife. I have no doubt in my mind that you will do the same with Lord Dayne,” she moved to speak, but Lucerys held up a hand to silence her, “This conversation is at an end, Shiera. You will depart to Starfall in three day’s time, and I will come to see you wed when I am on my way back from Highgarden.”

She slumped back in her seat, utterly defeated, but nodded nonetheless. 

He turned to Rhaemond, who was watching on with his usual arrogant smirk. Lucerys found that he would take great pleasure in wiping it off his face.

“Now, to you, dearest brother.”

Rhaemond blinked, “To me?”

Lucerys smiled wolfishly, “Aye. I invited you here to inform you of your betrothal to the Lady Desmera Redwyne.”

Shiera chuckled at the mutinous look on her brother’s face, something that Lucerys couldn’t help but join in on.

There were, at least, some things they could agree on.

Rhaemond took a breath before speaking in a low voice, “I have already told you, Lucerys, my wife—“

“—is the sea, yes, yes, I am well aware of your union. Do not worry dearest brother, the Lady Desmera is only two namedays old. You will have fourteen years before you wed. In the meantime, you can stick your cock in the sea all you like and try for an heir. If no fruit is born from such a union, I am afraid I will have to insist on an annulment.”

Shiera burst out laughing, “You thought you were immune to his machinations? Oh, poor Rhae, you should’ve always known it would end up like this!”

“Lucerys! I am a free man, you cannot possibly—“

“—You are my brother, and I am your Lord. Shiera will do her duty, and you shall do yours.” 

"Why not Jacaerys?" pressed Rhaemond, "He is of an age with her, and will inherit more than I!"

"Jacaerys has already been betrothed to Lady Asha Greyjoy," reasoned Lucerys, "I would have preferred this match for him, tis true, but it is already done. I have no other male heirs but you, and I need ties to the reach."

Rhaemond scowled fiercely, digging his nails into his hands until his knuckles turned white, “So what, I take my child bride to Low Tide and she pops out little silver-haired babes until I fall on my sword out of misery, is that it?”

He frowned at the name that Rhaemond had chosen for the holdfast father had given him. It was a small keep, though stout, and was just two hills over from the main keep at Driftmark. However, in typical Rhaemond fashion, he had sneered at the gift, mockingly christening it ‘Low Tide’ as a reference to Corlys Velaryon’s opulent palace of High Tide.

“She will be a woman grown by the time you wed. And actually, Rhaemond, I have begun preparations to rebuild High Tide for you.”

Both his siblings blinked in surprise at this, “What?” they chorused.

Lucerys nodded, “Tis true, though Monford will rule there until I die, after which he shall inherit Driftmark, and you along with the Lady Desmera will take High Tide.”

“We haven’t the coin to rebuild High Tide, we haven’t for decades,” his sister stated as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. 

“Actually we do,” Lucerys replied smirking, “While I was an advisor to King Aerys, I managed to, albeit quietly, double our house’s wealth,” his smirk grew into a full-toothed grin, “So you see, dear sister, ‘Licking the mad king’s arse’ does have its benefits.”

Shiera had the grace to look embarrassed for her choice of words earlier, “Well, you’ve certainly been busy.”

He nodded brusquely, “I have. Rebuilding our house’s power takes patience, you see, and cunning, attributes which the both of you sorely lack. However, attributes you don’t lack, are a womb,” he nodded to Shiera, “and a cock,” he nodded to Rhaemond, “Both of which can be quite lucrative when used to their full potential.”

“These marriages, while unsavory for you, are yet another step I am taking to fill up our coffers. Lord Dayne has offered an exceedingly generous bride-price for you, Shiera, a dornish custom. Whilst Lord Redwyne has offered an exceedingly generous dowry for his daughter, in the traditional westerosi fashion. Either way, we stand to gain quite a bit of gold from this.”

He looked towards Rhaemond, “Gold I could use to fund that grand voyage you’ve always dreamt of, brother.”

Rhaemond raised his eyebrows in surprise, and his purple eyes sparkled with want, “Truly, Lucerys?”

“Aye,” he nodded, “I assume, of course, you know where to find the treasures you’ve always dreamed about?”

Rhaemond grinned, “Oh, brother, you think so little of me. What did you think I was doing all this time away, sitting on my arse? I’ve seen wonders and treasures beyond imagination. I’ve been to YiTi and dined with princes who inhabit palaces of solid gold, To Samyriana, where women rule and guard caves filled to the brim with precious gems,” he leaned forward, “I’ve made connections, Lucerys, powerful connections. All I need are the ships and the coin, and I will return with treasures that will make the Sea Snake’s pale in comparison.”

Lucerys raised his brows in surprise, he truly _did_ think Rhaemond had mostly sat on his arse the past few years. It would appear that this voyage could have more potential than he had given it credit for. Still, he remained cautiously optimistic, as his brother often liked to bluster.

“You will, of course, wed her regardless of whether I say yes or no, but I want you to swear to me that you will go through with this marriage with a smile on your face.”

Rhaemond scowled at the reminder of his betrothal, but nodded gruffly, “I swear it.”

_Thank the gods_ , he thought silently, the last thing they needed was their very own Blackfish.

“Good, Then I will begin preparations for your grand voyage once I return from Highgarden and Shiera has been wed. Mayhaps you could take Monford with you, the boy needs to see something other than Driftmark.”

Rhaemond smiled at the mention of his nephew, “Of course, you know how I care greatly for Monford. The exact opposite of you in every way.”

Lucerys rolled his eyes heavenward, “Just wait a few years, and you’ll see that boy is far more like me than you care to admit.”

Shiera snorted, “Yes, of course he is,” he said sarcastically, “So Machiavellian, our dear nephew Monford, he must spend all that time out on the sea plotting to marry off his sister for a bit of extra coin.”

Lucerys sighed, “I believe this conversation is at an end. We are all aware of our duties, yes?”

Both siblings nodded miserably.

“Good, now go, the both of you, I need to nurse this migraine you fools have left me with.”

As he watched his siblings exit the solar, he couldn’t help the tired smile forming on his face. He had nine years on Rhaemond, and eight on Shiera, so he was always more of a second father than a brother for them. That had become especially true after mother and father had died. He had been only ten-and-nine and was suddenly raising a girl of ten-and-one and a boy of ten, even though he’d already had a wife and child of his own at that point. 

Lucerys had been a shy, generally well-behaved child, except for that tourney incident with Rhaella, but Rhaemond and Shiera had always been boisterous and temperamental. Bringing them up after mother and father died had been a challenge, but he rose to the occasion, as always. 

Despite all his efforts, however, they turned out to be complete and utter lackwits. 

Gods be damned if he wouldn’t miss them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so that came sooner than expected....won't promise another one this week, but hey you never know. Let me know what you guys thought of this one, the Summerhall flashback was, well, not fun, but interesting to write.


	11. UPDATE

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A lil update on things...

...Heyyyy everybody, remember me?   
Yeah so I know I haven't updated in like two months, but in my defense, it has been a LONG two months lol.   
Also, I started work on another fic that I am very passionate about so that sort of drew my time away from this one.  
Soooo, I have a little conundrum.   
I wrote this fic incredibly fast (hey I was bored and had a chip on my shoulder about season eight)--so fast, in fact, that I barely planned it out and since reading it back I have regretted a few plot points/characterizations.  
I largely like what Ive written (though I would edit it like a motherfucker) but a plot point that has been bugging me specifically is the whole Tyrell thing. Like--looking back now, it's SUPER dumb to take such a huge risk that early by taking viserys to meet with them (or even have Oberyn meet them at all, he has no rapport with Olenna before this as far as we know.) Plus, it's just too EASY.  
I feel like having both the tyrells and Martells in your corner during a civil war on all sides would just automatically make you the winner--I want viserys's journey to the throne to have more conflict, espionage, all that. It just seems way too quick with both the martells and tyrells--with them he could EASILY overpower the Lannisters.   
That's not to say the Tyrells aren't potential allies (Oberyn and Olenna snarking with each other is just too glorious to resist lol), but I would not make them so THIS early in the story.   
Now, onto the characterizations.   
I really like what Ive done with Lucerys, but I feel I'd make him a tad more cold. Yes, he cares about Viserys and Daenerys, but I want to write him as someone who's very closed off/inscrutable--I feel I've made him too soft (Not to say that he won't be soft on occasion). His characterization in the earlier chapters is definitely more what Im going for than it is in the later ones.   
Arthur's characterization is something I regret. I like the idea of him finding guarding Lyanna tedious/disgraceful, but I think he also wouldn't be willing to abandon a woman in the desert, ya know, being a chivalrous Knight and all. I--again, made the mistake of writing him too soft/emotional. This has become especially clear to me on my reread of the books lol.   
Jaime I'd just change a few minor things about, but he's largely fine.   
Overall, I love the idea I built this on, and will be sticking to the major plot points/relationships, but I feel I need to make some major changes to the plot for it to actually make sense and be a story with an ending that's earned rather than just "everything went well for them immediately, the end".   
I'm confused as to whether I should rewrite the whole thing and delete this one, or just rewrite a few chapters, salvage/rework the rest.   
I'd love to hear some of your opinions! Either way you probably won't get anything new from me on this for a few weeks, but know that I have definitely not forgotten it and am working on how to finally continue it.  
Thank you!


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